


Crushed

by 111 (Insert)



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! GX
Genre: Awkward Crush, Brainwashing, Canon Related, Flashbacks, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Manipulation, Minor Character Death, Threats of Violence, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2020-06-23 14:39:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 83,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19703437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Insert/pseuds/111
Summary: Manjoume Jun should be dead, but he's not.The guard who throws the cell door open shouts a title different than the name running through his head over and over again."The Supreme King has requested your presence."





	1. Marked

**Author's Note:**

> OKAY, time for some disclaimers.
> 
> \- Note the rating and the tags above.  
> \- This fic contains massive spoilers for Yu-Gi-Oh! GX.  
> \- Anything in italics is either a dream or a memory.  
> \- While I'm trying to keep this fic as canon compliant as possible, I will probably get some details wrong, and I apologize in advance. For the purposes of the story here, I'm treating the time between episodes 136 and 138 as several weeks. It should be noted that the timeline here will link up with the end of season 3, meaning that certain characters /are/ lying about past events (namely, Asuka and the others are not dead). Manjoume also comes to the wrong conclusions sometimes.  
> \- Even though this is based off the original anime, some stuff from the English dub will probably make its way in here anyways. 
> 
> SO… Here's...my Supreme King fic, because everyone has at least one, right? R-Right? Back me up pls

\---

_"Hey! Slow down or I'll kick your ass!"_

_"Hmm… But I'd have to slow down for you to catch up to me, and you'd have to catch up to me to kick my ass, so…" Judai trailed off, and he leaned back far enough for Manjoume to see how he tapped the side of his face, his grin wider than it had any right to be. Everything smelled of smoke. White flakes of ash turned and dropped. "Sounds like you're out to get me, Thunder."_

_With his nails digging into his palms, Manjoume tried just that, tripping over the decayed roots and grey-edged rocks that littered this forsaken wasteland. Unknown constellations pulsed in the sky of this new dimension._

_"Just slow down! And… A-Are you listening to me?! Oi, slacker!"_

_"It's hard not to, when you're yelling like that…"_

_"You moron, I-"_

_But Judai never turned around. He never broke his easy stride, not even when he was taken in by the encroaching night._

\---

Drip. 

Drip.

Wet drops hit his forehead, again and again. 

If that was anything but water, there would be consequences. Serious ones at that. 

It could have been some prank by a Slifer Red, or a former Slifer Red like Sho. Parts of that leaky, run-down dormitory were still splattered with the neon pink nailpolish from the _last_ time those idiots had messed with him, badly filling in the nails on his left hand before he had woken up and then, with the tenacity he was rightfully famous for, tried to strangle the entire group of interlopers.

_"C-Chill out! That stuff should- I-It should come off!"_

Of course Manjoume had pulled off the colour, no matter how ridiculous it was.

_"I mean, you did fall asleep in the common area, so… You've learned the risks of that by now, haven't you?"_

At some point, the nailpolish bottle has tipped, resulting in a lot of unnecessary noise (some of those involved _had_ been trying to sleep) and a lovely pink line on the inside of his jacket, right by his ribs and-

His hand was on the mark, the thin lining of his coat broken by its texture, raised from where the polish dried and cracked. But-

Again and again he felt the slight ridges, tracing each one a thousand times while breathing in that cold, damp air through clenched teeth, his other hand grasping at the stones below. They leached out any warmth. 

Drip. He could hear it -- that slight contact of liquid against stone.

But he had died.

He had died in chains. His body had been broken down while his friends had been made to watch.

\---

The liquid was probably water, and he was willing to deal with that 'probably' rather than risk trying it, contracting some other-dimension virus, and vomiting to death. Daitokuji-sensei, back when he wasn’t stuck in a flea-infested cat, had taken a perverse joy in lecturing groups of half-awake first-year students about the wonders of metal poisoning, which gave Manjoume yet-another reason to ignore whatever the fuck it was that came down from the ceiling and eventually disappeared through a crack in the floor. 

Everything was stone, except the bars that filled the open section of the wall. The cell was roughly five meters by five meters. The ceiling was roughly two meters tall.

His eyes had not adjusted to the dark, all consuming. The first touch of the metal had been a shock, and the bars could only be ugly things -- rusted where they fused with the floor, pitted with small indents.

Detective Manjoume Thunder had made several deductions already, because just sitting in the dark would accomplish nothing, _nothing_ at all. 

Of those brilliant deductions, three were of particular importance.

One: he was not dead. Obviously. 

Two: he was alone. Outside the bars was an empty space, his nails scraping against the same stone floor that continued inside his cell. When he yelled, there was an echo, but no answer. 

Three: his deck was missing. It explained the perfect silence, broken only by the random drops against the stone. Quick to startle, crying at almost _anything_ , the Ojamas would've-

Shit. Stop. 

Taking a deep breath, he stood up, wiping his hands on his jeans. 

Manjoume Thunder was a threat, always. And his opponent, whoever they were, would pay for their insolence, every second here a sign of disrespect, of a careless mind that deserved his anger, his twisting rage.

Nothing parted absolute darkness like the first flash of lightning. Nothing signalled a changing storm better than the first roll of thunder.

\---

 _"What, does he_ want _to get us killed?"_

_Sho whirled around, the colour drained from his face. "D-Don't talk about my aniki that way! Have you forgotten he's our fri-"_

_"He's the one forgetting that, not me."_

_Neglected, the campfire had been reduced to just coals, the fragile orange fading and curling in on itself. Smoke could alert enemies._

_Manjoume stamped it out._

\---

_Months before that, and he was standing outside Slifer Red's pathetic excuse for a main building and frowning at the open hand Judai shoved annoyingly close to his face._

_"See? See?!"_

_"That you don't clean your nails? Yeah, I got it, so-"_

_"I have a callous," Judai declared with a toothy grin, and the shoving continued. "See?! It's from how I tie my fishing lures, which means I'm officially a master fisherman."_

_If he squinted, he could see the red indent along Judai's index finger, and his next move was to swat Judai away because that idiot, the living embodiment of chaos and poor decision-making, could accidentally spit on him or trip him or-_

_Or grab Manjoume's hand and then thread their fingers together. Judai's were sweaty. Sand was under his bitten-down nails._

_"You can feel it, right?"_

_"A-Are you seriously-?"_

_The callous. Judai had meant the callous, the mischievous turn of his grin confirming it. The freckles below his eyes were faint, like bits of shadow that bordered his dark eyelashes._

_After Manjoume smacked him away, Judai laughed and trailed behind him, rambling on and on about his draw luck, golden yolks, and all kinds of bullshit that Manjoume heard himself sighing through. Lectures were in an hour._

_His palm was still warm, and it-_

\---

He woke up to the sound of a heavy door opening. The footsteps were next. 

Orange light was cast on the opposite wall, and Manjoume straightened to his full height. He squared his shoulders. 

The tick-tick-tick of those drops from the ceiling was as stupidly obvious as the cold and more irritating than the grit embedded in his jacket, and the armored guard who threw the cell door open shouted a title different than the name running through his head over and over again. 

"The Supreme King has requested your presence."

"Oh, _has_ he?" Manjoume snapped back, because he wasn't scared. Not at all. Sure, this demon _thing_ had at least three eyes and thirty centimeters on him, but fuck that. "Tell your master to come here in person and beg for my time, as he's already wasted enough of it in this degrading pit. Honestly, do you even know who I _am_?”

No response, that beast's stare unchanged through the gaps in its visor. The torch was held by the scaled guard behind it, hulking with four arms and a battle axe secured to its back. 

Manjoume Jun had seen Ojama Yellow pick lint out of his own belly button and then stick it up one nostril to stop a nosebleed. Therefore, he did not flinch when the first guard stepped closer, a forked shadow falling over him.

If they were trying to freak him out with those narrowed looks and meter-long weapons, then tough luck. He was an Ojama duelist. 

He had endured far worse.

"What, you really think I'll just go along with this? Sorry, but you're out of your depth, Muscle-Head, so how about you-?"

The first guard took another step. The heels of its plated boots were caked with red.

\---

_"-you're not scared, are you?"_

_A taunt from Yuki Judai, and Manjoume was on his feet, fast enough that he almost tipped over and took out Sho. Uneven, the table from the common area wobbled dangerously, their decks spread over it from where a lucky draw from Judai, so lucky that deck stacking_ could _have been involved had he not shuffled it himself, had forced Manjoume's remaining life points to zero. "Anyone who insults the legacy of Manjoume Thunder is a fool. Go ahead. Name your challenge, and I'll crush it like-"_

_"Go get me some food."_

_"...That's it?"_

_"Hmm… Well, I_ did _study pretty hard for that geography test," Judai drawled, which was a bold-faced lie, "so I could go for something fancy, like what they cook up in the Obelisk Blue dorms."_

_It took Manjoume a second, and then his fist hit the table. "You bastard. You're asking me to sneak into the kitchens-"_

_"Yeah."_

_"-and bring you platters of food-"_

_"Ah, platters. Hey, Sho, sounds good, doesn't it?"_

_"-while you just laze around and watch_ me _work?!"_

_"What can I say?" Judai shrugged, his hands clasped behind his head. "I enjoy the royal treatment. Now, go! Your master awaits his dear servant's w-"_

_That grinning moron didn't get to finish the sentence, because Manjoume had already knocked him and his chair over. Good riddance._

\---

The guards were now named Squinty and Scales.

As Squinty hauled Manjoume to his feet, the impact of that gut punch bringing up the acidic contents of his stomach, the guard moved back and out of the cell, which, because his legs refused to work and the world was currently spinning, meant that Manjoume had to tag along for the ride. 

Drag, technically. Apparently etiquette was a foreign concept to these thugs, and while Manjoume had endured many grotesque things, a large number of them Ojama-related, he had never been dragged out of a dungeon cell by an oversized cat-demon-human hybrid with too many eyes and a grip that could snap his wrist like a dry twig.

"F-Fine, fine. Let's go see this Supreme King," Manjoume drawled, and his next breath made him stop, gritting his teeth hard to keep back the noise. He tasted blood. "Sure, why not? I'll have to thank him for the h-hospitality."

From this angle, he had learned two things, and he forced them into his memory. He envisioned bold characters stamped on the inside of his skull, leaving the marks of wet ink on his brain matter. The cell door’s lock needed a brass key with a half-moon handle, and Squinty kept it on a large chain attached to his belt, the key itself tucked in a small pouch below the first layer of armor. The dungeon door’s lock, automatic unlike the other one, needed a silver key with a rounded end, and Scales wore that one as a pendant.

Hinges wailed, and outside, at the base of a stone staircase, were two more guards, massive creatures with curling claws and dragging tails. Manjoume heard himself laugh, high-pitched enough to put Ojama Yellow to shame, when they fell into formation behind the other guards. Maybe jailers was a more accurate term.

"Really, I'm flattered by the escort. Should I teach you which honorific to use with my name? As a-"

At least Squinty had done Manjoume the honour of saying something before sending him to the ground, gasping and seizing from the pain. The new guards had a more, ah, _direct_ method, the second blow making his forehead sting, the spread claws drawing blood. Red flecks hit the stone. Red dripped over his eyes. 

His brothers had always warned him about speaking out of turn, a bad habit since he was a kid. Despite their concerted efforts, no amount of teasing, taunting, or threatening had uprooted it, that old defiance sealed into him, branching through him.

A _really_ bad habit, and he had to bite back another curse when Squinty grabbed for his wrist again, almost wrenching his arm out of its socket from the careless force of that first pull -- as if he were a lifeless doll, as if everything inside his skull had already been carved out. 

\---

_"Persistence is the key to both dueling and romance," Fubuki said with the gravity and poise of a master, pausing only to strum the ukulele in his hands._

_"Uh… Why are you taking notes?" Sho asked, incredulous, while Manjoume underlined 'key' in red pen. Like him, Sho sat cross-legged on the sand, Fubuki perched on a large rock and preening in the afternoon sun._

_"Why are you_ here _?" was Manjoume's retort._

_"Boredom? Curiosity?"_

_"Curiosity," Fubuki added, plucking a different string, "is another common feature. Never forget this, my dear pupil."_

_"Like, I get that you're totally hopeless when it comes to dating_ and _Tenjouin-san is an upperclassman, but...are you sure these ‘lessons’ are...a good idea?"_

_"Ah, I see that the tenants of romance have yet to reach you, Marufuji Sho." Fubuki played two chords in quick succession, the wind ruffling his patterned shirt. "Must be a brotherly curse. I shall endeavour to break it, for the sake of your happiness."_

_Sho frowned at Manjoume. "...What's he talking about? Ah, whatever. Look," he continued, expression serious behind his moon-like glasses, "if there's one thing Manjoume-kun has, it's 'persistence.' Senpai, you don't need to waste your time encouraging that side of him."_

_Snorting, Manjoume flipped to a new page in his notebook. "That was almost a compliment, Sho."_

_"Like, just yesterday you lost to Tenjouin-kun five times in a row," Sho explained, which_ was _the truth, Asuka a goddess in white and blue at the opposite side of the arena, cleaving through him with her loyal angels. "Then, you challenged me and lost_ again _-"_

_"I took the next four duels. Don't leave that part out."_

_"-before… Yeah, whatever." Sho scoffed, kicking at the sand with his bare feet. The warm air carried the scent of salt, strong enough to sink into their clothes. Blue water stretched until the horizon, vivid as the cloud-streaked sky. "My point is that you must be a masochist or something. When I left for lunch, you were getting ready to duel my aniki, and I had to kick you two loudmouths out of the common room at_ midnight, _because you were_ still _dragging him into rematches. How many times did you lose to him?!"_

_"You're...acting like I keep track of such meaningless things," Manjoume muttered, clicking at his mechanical pencil._

_Whistling, Fubuki strummed the ukulele again. "Ah, the twists and turns one must take on the journey of love…"_

\---

For a long time, all he saw was the floor. The distant wails and screams were broken only by the surrounding guards’ deep breaths and the rhythmic clangs of their armored boots hitting the floor, the stones streaked with dirt. The pain in his chest never stopped, challenged only by the aching cut on his forehead, the blood from it staining his shirt.

Maybe he'd get a cool scar from it, a souvenir from his wretched stay in the castle of the Supreme King. The composed, haughty rivals in action shows sometimes had scars, which meant that he could deal with it.

He could deal with all of _this_ , even if everything lurched and then went dark as the guards forced him up again, that metallic taste still thick on his tongue. They were higher up than before, a scorched landscape rolling away in greys and blacks under a cruel, storm-filled sky. Distant mountains tapered like fangs. 

When Squinty's grip loosened, Manjoume ripped his arm away, and he straightened the worn lapels on his jacket next. Next, he wiped at his face with his sleeve. The rough fabric dragged against the broken skin, and he suppressed a wince. He forced his expression into something familiar, a smirk that wound up the side of his face and narrowed his eyes.

"So, it's time to see your boss," he observed, rolling his shoulders back. "How interesting. I look forward to assessing this 'Supreme King.' Although, I doubt he'll be up to my high standards."

Like ribs, grand archways of stone rose up and curved towards the high ceiling, a bronze door at the end of the hall. Everything was wreathed in shadow, choking the flickering torchlight.

A draconic guard opened the door and then stepped back, the message clear. 

Fine.

"I'll be right back. Try not to miss me _too_ much."

His voice had been even, but his first step was more of a stumble. The Ojamas would have erupted with worry, tears bubbling over as their pleas and screeches filled the air. Here, his humiliation had a different audience, and they were silent through it.

Past the door was a thick dark, and as he strode into it, the door was slowly closed behind him. It sealed him in. 

There was a light, faint and orange, from a metal chandelier, like a maze of broken swords. A moment, and then his eyes had adjusted. The high windows let in the night's cold, the wind breaking and scattering brittle cobwebs, white lines that segmented the heavy dark.

An armored step, loud and shattering. 

This dimension had formed so many twisted souls, and proof of that was strewn across the dead ground of burnt-out villages, houses reduced to bare foundations, memories lost alongside lives. Wooden gates had been splintered. Demonic soldiers -- frenzied by rumors of their coming lord, someone to rip all weakness from these lands -- had spread violence.

What had followed was death for so many, here in this dimension of cruelty, stark as the blood smeared across the back of Manjoume’s pale hand. His raised knuckles were knots of bone-white.

His friends were missing, and this tyrant, wreathed with shadows, stood in front of him with no drawn weapon, as if fear alone would split Manjoume open and spill his insides, would make everything visible in this cold, isolated place.

"What's with the mask?" he hissed, stepping closer to the light. Fuck everything. Fuck this castle. Fuck this entire _dimension_ and the idiot who had dared to call himself its ruler -- like he _owned_ it, like he owned all of _them_ right down to their souls.

Steeped black armor covered the Supreme King. Its edges were in gold, and a ripped cape fell from his spiked pauldrons, outlining the jagged shapes of his gauntlets.

"Whatever. Keep it on," Manjoume snapped next, and he inhaled sharply, tasting metal. "So, you've caught me, and you've imprisoned me, Manjoume Thunder. It's only fair that I give you a warning, since whatever game you're playing is going to fail. I have allies, and they're stronger than any army you can put together."

Nothing. 

Absolutely nothing. 

From the burning candles, shards of red and yellow parted the dark of the Supreme King's armor before sinking into the black, as if the scraps of those ever-shifting shadow had smothered them.

"What? Are you distracted by _this_?" Manjoume sneered and then pushed his bangs up, strands catching on the dried patches before breaking loose. "The credit goes to your lovely guards. Should I feel honoured by their attention?"

Nothing, again.

His next breath rattled down his throat, and he imagined his fists against that mask, cleaving through it and splitting the face underneath, unseen. The features were only imagined.

In this dimension, villages of innocents had been burned to the ground. Children had been ripped from their parents.

Now, Manjoume breathed in the same damp air as the Supreme King, the one who commanded the fiendish guards outside and waited in the chilling dark of this castle, waited while the world outside continued to roll and change. Echoes in the passageways had spoken of a new war. Jeering laughter had followed the announcement of a ‘cleared’ region, the words muffled by the blood pounding inside Manjoume’s head, the frenzy stoked by each new syllable. This could only be a selfish reign, the work of someone beyond _any_ redemption. He watched the sheen on that armor flicker and change, and then-

And then the Supreme King spoke, the first word like the press of a blade against his throat, keeping him still and silent. The Supreme King hadn't moved. The space between them was banded with curved shadows. 

"It is deep enough to scar," was what the Supreme King had said with Judai's voice, and Manjoume's nails cut into his palms when the Supreme King reached up to remove the mask. 

The duels here were life and death. Lives were sacrifices to active card effects, and Manjoume-

Manjoume had died while his friends had been made to watch, Judai shouting from the arena below. That much was certain, and across from him were two eyes of swirling gold, as if Judai's own had been plucked out to make room for those of someone else, of something else.

The tyrant was wearing his rival’s face. Anger festered below the fear, like a deep wound aching and _aching_ beneath a cracked scab, and Manjoume drew his fist back.

He threw the first punch.

\---

_"Ah, senpai! Here's your name tag and a copy of your registration form," Kenzan said, which naturally left Manjoume with one important question._

_"...What are you talking about?"_

_"They're for the scavenger hunt, which starts in fifteen minutes and twenty seconds. Err, eighteen. Seventeen. Six-"_

_"What scavenger hunt and… And why are you dragging_ me _into it?!"_

_"Yeah, tell 'em, Boss!" Ojama Yellow shouted, and his brothers whooped in agreement, translucent confetti shooting over his shoulder and falling through Kenzan's bandana, which was pirate-themed for some reason._

_'MANJOUME THUNDER' had been printed in bold characters, and he studied the badge with raised eyebrows while Kenzan leaned closer and whispered, "Okay, so the plan goes like this. The chancellor said that Ra Yellow can host a big party tonight if and only if we get at least twenty percent of the student population involved in some big team-building activity."_

_"And_ that's _why you forged my signature on a registration form…?"_

_"Someone else did the forging, so…" Kenzan trailed off, and then that dino-obsessed duelist pivoted, tossing Manjoume a cheery wave over his shoulder. "Well, all's well that ends well! See you at the starting line, Manjoume-senpai!"_

_"Look, it says there'll be prizes!" Ojama Green announced, shoving a stubby finger at the paper Manjoume was slowly crumpling into a ball. How arrogant could that second-year student_ be _? As if he, Manjoume Thunder, would degrade himself by-_

_"Manjoume-kun!"_

_Asuka. The sweet music of Tenjouin Asuka’s voice._

_"Y-Yes, Tenjouin-kun?" he asked, clearing his throat before he turned around, the Ojamas shouting encouragements and waving their tiny limbs. The sleek lines of her uniform were in perfect order, unchanged by the breeze that ran through her long, golden hair, a soft haze like sunlight. The ocean framed her, and it bordered one side of this small, isolated path that snaked between the dormitory buildings, evergreen trees casting their forked shadows over her bare shoulders._

_They were alone._

_"Stay cool," Ojama Yellow whispered, and Manjoume smacked him away. The others followed._

_Tenjouin Asuka was_ here _, and she held a form almost identical to his own, her looping signature at the bottom in blue pen._

_"I see Kenzan got you too," she said with a sigh._

_"Y-Yeah."_

_"I don't understand why we have to wear these nametags..."_

_Asuka's was pinned over her heart, on the smooth blue that traced her bust, and, following that sudden thought, Manjoume stared hard at the ground, his face on fire. "T-They might have GPS trackers in them, to make sure that no one goes off the island or gets lost. After Genex, the chancellor met with me in his office, and he wanted feedback on how to make the tournament safer for the students. I...wouldn't be surprised if each tag was also equipped with a heart monitor or...something like that…"_

_His would be going crazy, a medical team probably on standby._

_"Oh, I get it," she announced, and he risked a glance up, her smile greeting him. Pure sunlight. "The chancellor wants to test out the new devices."_

_Even if he fainted, this would still be the best day ever. The wind had picked up, ruffling the edges of her skirt, and he-_

_"W-Was there...something you wanted from me, Tenjouin-kun?"_

_Why did his voice have to sound like_ that _? Squeaky, small. Like the whine of a plastic toy being mauled by an over-excited dog._

_But Asuka -- impossibly wonderful, generous Asuka -- only smiled back at him. "I was hoping you would team up with me for the scavenger hunt."_

_"Yes, of course," he answered, almost out of breath. His mind whirled, because he was standing alone in front of Asuka, the sole object of her attention. "But…"_

_"Hmm? Is something wrong?"_

_"But you would...usually team up with the girls from Obelisk Blue, in a situation like this. What's...changed?"_

_"Oh. Junko and Momoe are behind on their history assignment. Besides, I…" Suddenly, she whipped around, squinting at the treeline. "We should head out. There's already a crowd by the starting line."_

_He nodded, not trusting his ability to say anything without stuttering or blushing even harder than this. Tenjouin Asuka. And Manjoume Thunder._

_On a team._

_Maybe this was the afterlife. At that moment -- tripping after Asuka while she talked strategy and glanced back at him with those warm, hazel eyes -- he wouldn't have regretted it at all._

(Although, that was before he -- weighed down by heavy chains, an agony lodged in his chest like a blade, plunged in until the hilt -- had actually tasted death. Judai had watched. 

Yes, he had died.)

\---

_No one had ever described the student population of Duel Academia as 'calm', and, following that observation, the flurry of activity at the starting line had made perfect sense, validating Manjoume's view of the world and those idiots who made a habit of living in it and, generally, doing things to annoy him._

_All it had taken was a look at Marufuji Sho, clinging to the arm of one Yuki Judai, for Manjoume to crinkle his face into a sneer, throw his shoulders back, and make a bold declaration. "Anyone who stands against the invincible combination of Manjoume Thunder and Obelisk Blue's true ace, Tenjouin Asuka, is a fool. We will demonstrate our indomitable willpower and conquer this challenge, so, to all of_ you _," he added with a sweeping glare at the crowd, which had parted for his team and his team alone, "I have only thing to say. Prepare to embrace defeat."_

_"Huh. Thunder really wants to win that ballcap," Judai drawled, and he winked at Asuka. Rude. Unforgivably rude. "Asuka, watch out for him, okay? We wouldn't want the winner of Genex to fall off a roof, again."_

_"I-I… I don't need to take this from_ you _!"_

_And then they were off, Asuka grabbing his wrist and yanking him in the opposite direction from the surging crowd, limbs flying everywhere as the teams propelled themselves towards the main building, the most obvious place to find the first item. A piece of tape, at least ten centimeters long._

_"Come on!" she shouted, letting go when they hit the forest, tree roots jutting up across the overgrown path. "If we're going to win this, we can't follow the others."_

_"Right," he yelled back, the list bobbing wildly as he held it up, narrowly avoiding the next tree. "That Kenzan… None of these are even pirate-themed! What, can his primitive dinosaur brain not come up with an original idea?! Most of the items are just office supplies!"_

_"Well, while our competitors are fighting over the contents of Chronos-sensei's office, we'll be checking off item number one."_

_The abandoned dormitory, its painted facade chipped and cracked. Ivy spanned the roof, beaten down by the weather and neglect, one section caved in._

_The crisp, yellow 'CAUTION' tape was new, probably added after the island-wide tournament, and Manjoume's eyebrows rose when Asuka reached into her tote bag and pulled out a utility knife, the blade retracted._

_"Uh… Wouldn’t this count as damaging Academia property?”_

_She shrugged. "Probably."_

_Manjoume Thunder was officially in love._

(Although, the wry smirk on Asuka's face had made him think of someone else, and, unblinking, he had numbed himself to that familiar sensation, as if he were elastic band being pulled so hard it might split from the strain.)

\---

 _The organizers from Ra Yellow must have been sitting in a teacher's office when they had written the item list, each one the result of someone leaning back and pointing at the nearest object. Given Kenzan's participation, Manjoume had expected more dinosaur references, but, then again,_ that _would have resulted in half the school raiding his dorm room._

_Just by skirting around the curling vines and thick trees of the abandoned dorm, they had found four of the fifteen items, and if the judges didn't approve of them counting a rusted-out pair of gardening shears as 'scissors,' then Manjoume was going to bring the storm down on them, complete with quotations of the hunt's rules from memory._

_The left side of his jacket had a new tear through it, courtesy of a thorned bush. Asuka's bare legs had been scraped, her boots streaked with dirt, and yet she cheered just as loud as Manjoume did when, digging through the wet sand, she pulled a shell loose, empty and iridescent inside. Item number fourteen: something purple, blue, and grey._

_"Chronos-sensei must have walked into the room," Manjoume said as Asuka, laughing, stood up and then brushed the sand off her knees._

_"So, do you have any ideas for the last one?"_

_The tote bag was heavy, almost unbearable, but he hefted it over his shoulder anyways. They had passed hours like this, and the fireworks signalling the end of the hunt had yet to brighten the darkening sky. A familiar run-down building in yellow and red hung by the cliffside. It would be their last stop._

_"Next, our team shall make a quick visit to the luxurious and spacious Manjoume Room. After all, it's not against the rules to use your own possessions, provided that none of them were purchased on the day of the contest."_

_"Hmmm…" Asuka stopped at his side, and then, in a smooth motion that left him staring and blinking in place, she slipped the bag off his shoulder and onto her own. She didn't flinch from the added weight._

_Woah._

_"I don't remember your room having an object like that," she said, and he fell into place beside her, eyeing the tote bag that swayed and bobbed in unbroken arcs._

_Item number fifteen: a framed portrait of someone important._

_"I bet everyone else is stealing the paintings from Obelisk Blue. Honestly, those Ra Yellows… I hope they'll take responsibility for the chaos they're inflicting onto the school."_

_"Ah, but what's wrong with a little chaos?" Asuka asked, a perfect counter, and Manjoume could only nod, a smile tracing his face._

_The waves surrounding the island were crested with yellow and orange, the troughs in dark blue and swirling black. Inside the Manjoume Room, he flicked the lights on and then made for the storeroom, hidden behind a divider. Removing a panel revealed the electronic lock, a necessary precaution against all the freeloaders and their careless hands._

_"Now, you're in for a treat," he announced, waving one hand to bring Asuka closer, her long hair slipping forward. "_ This _is a climate-controlled room, constructed specifically to house my art collection, since putting such rare and valuable masterpieces on display would only lead to their ruin. I can't expect the lowlifes of Slifer Red to appreciate the texture of a master's brushstroke or the delicate beauty of a perfect composition."_

_"I...didn't know you liked paintings."_

_Arching an eyebrow, he glanced back at her. "Ah, I understand. You've acknowledged my cool-and-rebellious image. But, Tenjouin-kun, I must remind you that Manjoume Thunder can be a refined gentleman. My collection," he added with another swooping gesture, stopping before he knocked a Sèvres porcelain vase against the Gobelin tapestry behind it, "focuses on impressionists, naturally, but my latest purchases venture into the bold world of post-impressionism, as you can see on the far wall."_

_"I...see that. Umm." With an unusual hesitancy, Asuka shadowed his steps, her hands curled by her sides. "Manjoume-kun?"_

_"Yes? Do you have any questions?"_

_"I… Ah, this is embarrassing, but fine art isn't my speciality. To be honest, I don't know what to say at all." She laughed a little, and Manjoume could have smacked himself._

_One second later, and he did, a palm to the forehead._

_"M-Manjoume-kun?"_

_"I," he began, leaning on a restored desk for support, "have been very rude to you. I must apologize."_

_"Please don't," Asuka replied, and he did not deserve her patience, the tote bag still high on her bare shoulder. A white flower was tangled in her hair, its petals catching in the golden strands. "If it'll make you feel better, I can talk about tennis during our walk back, and I promise you'll be bored to death by the time we reach the main building."_

_"You have a deal.”_

_With a renewed focus, he sifted through the many canvases, the frames in shades of gold. Most had decorative swirls. His brothers had encouraged him to take the scraps of their own collections, the pieces that weren't expected to appreciate in value, and yet-_

_And yet they were his now, and that was more than enough. Vibrant orange and blue passed next to his fingers. He continued until he found it, the frame the heaviest of them all._

_A portrait of someone important, and when he, breathing hard, unveiled it with a flourish, Asuka immediately burst out laughing, and he watched as she folded at the waist and grabbed at her heaving ribcage._

_"S-Sorry, sorry…."_

_At the original unveiling, his brothers had looked at each other with creased foreheads, and then Shouji had said, "How unfortunate for you, Jun. The artist didn't see much of a family resemblance.”_

_It had been shuffled from room to room, and until it had found its way here, the sight of it making Asuka, the girl he liked, laugh until there were tears sparkling in her eyes, their colour even warmer than before._

_“I-It’s beautiful, really,” she said, and his heart clenched, her words honest. “But the bird is a bit too, ah, over-the-top, for my taste.”_

_“That is a falcon,” Manjoume explained, and he shifted the canvas back. “According to the artist, it symbolizes independence.”_

_Against a grey background, a younger version of himself, still with the same wild hair and narrowed eyes, posed with one arm raised, a brown-feathered falcon curling its talons over a thick, weathered glove, in contrast to the delicate grey details of his suit. The composition ended at his waist, his face at a three-quarter angle. The likeness was there._

_He looked like himself._

_Because crating it would have cost them precious time, improvisation was necessary, and by using a wheelbarrow, several sheets of cardboard, and some bubblewrap, they were finally able to haul the covered portrait outside. The stars were out, white pinpricks against a spreading black-blue, and Manjoume, after wiping the sweat from his forehead, tossed his jacket over item number fifteen, now secure enough to reach the finish line in one piece. While explaining different serve types, Asuka set a quick pace, her heels clicking over the small, flat rocks embedded in the dirt path, worn down by everyday use between the Slifer Red dormitory and the main building._

_And then she stopped, her hair pale against the night sky._

_“Today was fun, so much fun that I...forgot what I had wanted to say. This event, it seemed like the perfect chance to get the words out of my head, but instead I let myself fall into the rhythm of everything, forgetting why I had approached you in the first place."_

_Transfixed, Manjoume felt himself let go of the wooden handles, the slight grain dragging against his fingertips. “Tenjouin-kun, if there’s anything I can do for you, just ask me. A direct style suits you best.”_

_“It’s about the Society of Light.”_

_Muted sensations. Disorientation, and massive blocks of missed time, days struck from his memory, like an eraser had streaked across the graphite pencil outlines of those days and left only smugs behind, vague suggestions. Asuka had endured the same thing, her will ripped away and then distorted, and it was all because of-_

_She stepped back when he bowed, a rigid ninety degrees. He had done this before, but-_

_“I apologize for everything I’ve done, even if I don’t deserve to be forgiven. As a leader of Obelisk Blue, you were only trying to undo the damage I had caused while under the Light of Destruction’s influence. Despite my feelings for you, I couldn’t stop that light from reaching you and...converting you.”_

_Dressed in white, a possessed Asuka had regarded him with disc-like eyes, revealing nothing. It had taken a combined effort -- spearheaded by Judai and his uncanny luck, his spirit unbroken by the chilling ice of Asuka’s stare and strange, biting words -- to bring her, the pride of Obelisk Blue, back to them._

_With a kind smile, Asuka sighed and crossed her arms._

_“I understand how you feel. To be honest, I keep thinking about how horribly I acted while the Light of Destruction was controlling me. Well, more accurately, I keep thinking about what others have told me, since my memories are…”_

_“Hidden, like there’s a fog over them.”_

_She nodded. “Yes, exactly. Together, we served as generals, leading others and converting those who disobeyed our leader. I fought against the control, and yet…” The night continued on, a strong gust of wind surging past them. “And yet I understand that my actions affected those closest to me. I caused others to worry about me, including my brother who...has already been through so much.”_

_It was a cycle of guilt, a wheel that spun and spun without accomplishing anything except driving the hurt deeper. He was a moron for only recognizing its marks on Asuka now, even though he loved her so deeply._

_Damn it._

_He needed to say something, to change the course of this night. Her smile had lost its glow._

_“For you to even consider others like that, it means you’re a good person, and...it means that your bonds with them have meaning.” Awkward. Stilted, but he continued on. “Tenjouin-kun, because of the person you really are, others were willing to fight for you, to free you from that...weird...space....thing.”_

_She gave him a sharp nod, small white petals falling loose and streaking away with the wind. “Yes, and that’s the same answer I want to give you, Manjoume-kun. I wasn’t myself at the time, but Judai, he dueled you for the sake of the Manjoume Thunder that everyone at Duel Academia wants to cheer for.”_

_Judai._

_The slacker who would steal fried shrimp off his plate and doodle bug-eyed Ojamas on his papers, always just out of reach and darting away with an impish smile, wide enough to show his curved dimples. They ended above the freckles that ran along his jawline, darker than the ones dashed across his nose and curved up his cheekbones, close to his bright eyes._

_It had taken awhile, but the Ojamas had eventually told Manjoume the truth, babbling about how that fortune teller had only trapped him because of his need to overcome his rival, not because of his honest feelings for the girl who stood across from him and waited, the wind pushing her trailing collar out like a flag. Denying something related to Judai should have been easy. It should have been routine by now, like wrapping an injury that would only heal slowly, like unwinding clean bandages to replace those that had hid an ugly scar._

_He cleared his throat._

_“You’re overestimating him. That duel-crazed idiot will go after anyone with a strong deck. The whole ‘cult-trying-to-end-the-world’ situation just gave him an excuse to be more reckless than usual.”_

_“Maybe you’re right,” Asuka admitted with a bright laugh, swinging the tote bag between her hands. “You know, I heard that we both gave Judai some trouble with our duels.”_

_“Good. He deserves to suffer.”_

_“Ah, is that how a rival should act?” she added, and Manjoume felt himself smirk, his head lowered. “Maybe you’ll understand this more than anyone else, but I want to defeat him in a fair duel. It’s something I’ve haven’t done before, and the close calls are so-”_

_“Frustrating.”_

_Another laugh. “Although, the two of us, we have to be thankful for him. He saved us. He brought us back from the light.”_

_Manjoume chose his words carefully. The truth was there, close to the surface, and maybe Asuka could already see it on his face. “Yuki Judai endangers himself without a second thought,” he said, aware of how close they were standing, of how close they suddenly_ were _. All because of Judai, the wild-eyed fool who had stumbled into Duel Academia and changed them both, tripping through that too-small dormitory and dragging mud and sand through its halls. The sketch of a hero, unfinished but with the outline almost done, suggesting something more. “The next one to get brainwashed will probably be him, since he never uses caution with his opponents. Like you said, Tenjouin-kun, either one of us could have taken him down.”_

_A slight pause, and he waited through it, his mind whirling. Strategies. Next moves._

_He did not predict Asuka’s words, given with perfect control, and her smile cut right through him, making his eyes go wide._

_“Hey, if something terrible ever happens to Judai, we should be there at his side. This debt that we owe, maybe it can be repaid one day, even though I would be happy to carry it forever, because it's proof that someone fought hard for my sake. Plus, I...hope Judai stays safe. He's lucky, but…"_

_No matter what, Judai was his rival._

_There was only one answer, and he gave it clearly._

_“Tenjouin-kun, if you’re not there to protect that loudmouth from his own stupidity, then I will. I’ll get even with him, for both our sakes.”_

_When they reached the main building, it was to a chorus of cheers, most of Duel Academia sprawled beneath the cheap lanterns strung around the pillars and dueling over packs of snacks, Judai’s pile the biggest by far. Manjoume knocked it over as part of his entrance ceremony, and also just to be a jerk. Sho tried to trip him in response._

_“Wait, you guys_ actually _found all that stuff?” Judai blurted out, jumping up to peer at the contents of their tote bag. “Uh… Me and Sho stopped at item five and went fishing instead. I...think it was the same for everyone else. I mean, even Kenzan’s chilling around here somewhere.”_

 _“He’s setting up the barbeque. He only told you that_ five _times, Aniki,” Sho chided, and he made another grab for Manjoume’s legs before he was distracted. “Hey, what’s in the box?”_

_“Item number fifteen.”_

_“The...scissors?”_

_“Try again.”_

_“Oh! The painting!” Judai announced, snapping two fingers. The light traced his scattered bangs, sliding as barbed shapes of red. “Because you’ve covered it up, I’m getting curious,_ really _curious… Ah, it's like a present, or a booster pack, or-"_

_“Well, you’ll just have to wait,” Asuka interjected, her hands on her hips. Sand and mud still streaked her legs, and Manjoume probably had a twig in his hair. Whatever. “The rules state that at least one offical judge must be present when the items are formally displayed and counted.”_

_“Ah, man… Hey, Sho, where'd Kenzan go?”_

_“I-I just told you! Aniki, what’s wrong with you?!”_

_“...You did?”_

_“Yes!”_

_“How typical,” Manjoume muttered, and Asuka laughed into her palm, their eyes meeting for a brief moment, just long enough to bring those words back, and they boomed loud inside his head._

_\---_

_“Hey, if something terrible ever happens to Judai…”_

_\---_

The Supreme King stepped to the side, and Manjoume’s momentum took him down to the floor, the impact bringing with it a new burst of pain, white-hot under his skin, and, cursing, he forced himself up again, taking shallow, rattling breaths that hurt.

This hurt, but he had no choice. He could only face the person across from him, showing him Judai’s face with all emotion bled from it. His mouth was a stiff, unmoving line, creased at the corners.

Judai had never made that closed expression, but he _had_ to be in there somewhere, caged by the will of another being, a fiend.

A monster. 

"Judai, we came here to save Johan. Your _friends_ came here to save him, and we need to get going. There's no time for whatever _this_ is," he snapped, something drawing his throat tighter and tighter. The darkness drew in like a fog, deep enough to hide the grooves of the stone below. 

He needed his deck, the cards within it the shards of his soul. His hands itched, grim embedded in his palms. 

The Supreme King said nothing. 

But only Judai was his target now.

"Hey," he continued, stepping closer, "tell me that you're fighting him. I haven't forgiven you for the bullshit that got us into this mess. All of us. Tenjouin-kun, Fubuki-san, Kenzan, Sho, and everyone at Duel Academia whose had to compensate for your careless actions, they all deserve an apology, and Judai, I will never leave until you acknowledge everything they've sacrificed for your sake. If you thought I was persistent before, then prepare yourself, because now you've really pissed me off."

No reaction. No response. But he would not stop. He would slam his hands against this barrier until he broke through it, until Judai was back. 

Shadowed spikes rose from the Supreme King's immaculate armor. The intricate mechanism jutting up from one gauntlet could only be a duel disk, the ultimate weapon in a dimension like this, where the choking threat of death spread and spread as a misama would. 

"Oi, King. Only a coward faces an unarmed duelist," he said, and the blank stare continued, unchanged. "You're right to be scared of me, of course. A single game with me, and you'll be done for."

That voice answered him, an instrument being plucked. "You would risk your life for his. You would even risk his own life."

"So? None of that concerns _you_."

A pause, and those eyes never left his own. The deeper cold had set in. "Johan Andersen is dead."

He did not flinch. "Where's your proof?"

The words were stilted, controlled with a vice grip. "Your allies are dead."

"Oh, _please_. Don't make me repeat myself…" Scoffing, he shook his head, ignoring the shiver tracing the knobs of his spine, tapping and tapping like a strong finger as the Supreme King's stare remained on him, unbroken. Unshaken. He endured it. "Look, do you want to speed this up? Give me some cards and let's go. I'll even pass the first turn over to you, as a thanks for your, ah, 'hospitality.' So-"

Where the finger joints were, the black plating of the gauntlets was split by bands of gold, and those bands shifted, the colours catching the light, when the Supreme King reached out and touched his face, a shock of cold metal on his forehead, and-

"There is a salve that could heal this," that empty voice said. Gold irises were wide, the pupils just specks, and the expression gave him nothing. Not a trace of Judai, the boy who would throw his head back to watch the seagulls ride the air drafts, their wings spread over the vibrant blue of the ocean. He knew how Judai's hair curled over the nape of his neck, even when it was tossed by the wind. 

This was someone else, and they had stolen Judai’s voice.

"But you will bear this scar for the rest of your life, Manjoume Jun. That is my decision.”

The hand retracted, the finger joints shifting audibly with the controlled movement, and flecks of dried blood marred the smooth sheen over the Supreme King's armored palm, _his_ blood that now looked so much like a stain. He thought of Judai whining as he had tried to flick dried sap off his hands, proof of his latest tree-climbing adventure. He thought of anything but the crushing weight of the darkness that suddenly rolled off the Supreme King, an unsaid command that Manjoume would not take, not even if it killed him here and now.

Staring into gold, he thought of Judai, panic stark in wide eyes, cradling a small bird with a broken wing, and Manjoume had been the one to drag them both to the nurse's office, muttering to himself as he had taken long strides, Judai stumbling to keep up. 

Here, weakness could lead to death.

An exposed heart was a weakness.

"You really are arrogant," Manjoume heard himself ground out, barely audible over the roar inside his head, his heart fast, so fucking _fast_. "This plan of yours, it reveals how unstable the rule of the Supreme King is."

No answer, as if he didn't deserve one. 

How insulting. 

"Your control over Yuki Judai is flawed, and that's why you're waving me around like a fishing lure, trying to drive some part of him out into the open. Honestly, do you seriously expect me to just play along? Do you-?"

Something snapped in the air, an intangible leash yanked on, hard, and the doors flew open. Squinty and Scales flanked the hollow space, their weapons drawn. 

They approached. 

"Take him away."

"Yes, my lord," Squinty answered, and immediately Manjoume's arm was back under that grip, seized by that inhuman hand. He pulled against it. 

On the inside, past the walls put up by the Supreme King, Judai had to be-

"Judai, don't ever stop fighting him. You have to fight this, and I-"

With an explosion of black and red, his vision tilted, his ears ringing from the slam of Squinty's closed fist, and then time did something strange, like chunks of it had been removed, or struck through with a dark-coloured marker. Next he was outside that darkened room, gasping for air as the guards jeered at a passing line of prisoners, gaunt and shackled. Next he was being shoved and pulled down the familiar staircase to the dungeon, the edges of the steps crumbling, small stones falling loose, and then, a shutter of black. A moment lost. 

Next he was flinching from the slam of his cell door, the bars thin in the flickering torchlight, and then the guards were gone, he was alone, and all the lights were out.

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Assorted notes:
> 
> Paintings: The art collection stuff is based on the start of episode 35, which is set before the Manjoume room is constructed.  
> Manjoume/Asuka: Just to reiterate, this is a rivalshipping fic, but I am going to address Manjoume's canon, err, 'crush' and work it into more of a friendship/admiration thing. like smashing my fists against hardened clay.  
> Rivalshipping: whispers [something about my massive 100k+ rivalshipping fic i just finished](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16869061/chapters/39612520), which raises the question of why i have two chapters of this completed already-  
> "Wait, what's going on?": I got a plot for this. Trust me. Maybe. ...sort of.


	2. Trapped

\---

_After the boardroom doors had closed behind them, Chosaku cracked a low, winding grin, and he loosened his tie as he strode down the gilded hallway, Manjoume jogging to match his longer strides. The suit Manjoume wore was stiff and new, a necessary part of accompanying his brother to work, of furthering his education on how the Manjoume Group operated and thrived in this competitive world._

_With a well-timed offer, Chosaku had just taken control of a robotics company specializing in medical equipment, its recent innovations putting the market share of Chosaku’s own company at risk, and next would be the slow, calculated process of stripping the assets and isolating the useful staff members before abandoning the empty, aimless husk. Then, Chosaku’s own company could redirect its funding from research to marketing, which would increase profit margins._

_In clipped tones, Manjoume had been told the plan over last night’s dinner at a first-class restaurant, the courses punctuated by gossip on the world’s elite, and forgetting a single step would mean failure. It would mean that he was stupid. It would mean that he had disgraced the family name, like spilling black ink onto a white cloth._

_The week before, Chosaku’s private investigators had uncovered an affair between the robotics company’s CEO and a former actress, and when Chosaku’s offer, on behalf of the Manjoume Group, had been accepted, the hard drive containing the evidence had summarily been wiped clean._

_“Never forget what the most valuable thing in this world is,” Chosaku said once they were in the car, the sleek interior, leather and mahogany, stifling, pressurized. Taking the tie off would be disrespectful. Staring at the world outside, a group of schoolchildren swinging their bags while they waited at a crosswalk, made him dizzy._

_“Information,” Manjoume answered, and Chosaku took one hand off the wheel to pat his head._

\---

In his cell, the guards would bring him food and supplies. The encounters were always the same, with the only variation being whether or not Squinty felt like smashing his head against the wall. Given their past incidents, Manjoume had calculated a fifty-percent probability of needless aggression during his ‘lunch break’.

The meal consisted of a round of stale bread, whatever rancid-smelling goo had been smeared on said bread, and the cloudy water that would fill the dented metal cup. Obelisk Blue had fleets of restaurant-quality chefs waiting to take student orders, everything served with immaculate ease and grace. Slifer Red had the chaos of the common room, worn but familiar, and the smell of bubbling broth would spread through the entire building like a signal. And, fuck, even North Academy, where most things came sliding out of a tin, could proudly describe its meals as ‘bland’, a massive improvement over the hardened bread and disgusting sloop, a speckled film over the crusty meat-like lumps.

Here, there were no utensils given to him, and the cup was taken away each time. 

Not even Daitokuji-sensei had been that stingy. 

During each encounter, he saw Squinty unlock the cell door with the key chained to his belt. Scales wore the other one around his neck, and the dungeon door would click shut with that automatic lock when they entered, meaning that it had to be unlocked again when they wanted to leave.

Manjoume Thunder was not known for his patience, but he didn’t have much of a choice. Overpowering either one of them would be impossible. Outsmarting them required more time.

But his time, like his life, was tethered to the command of someone else, the ruler possessing his rival’s body. In the dark, he listened to the drips of that clear liquid from the ceiling, like one of Misawa’s shitty ‘rain sounds’ playlists that had broken and now looped the first ten seconds over and over again. 

It would be shameful to die here, he thought.

_\---_

Drip, drip, drip-

\---

At the first slide of the dungeon door, audible from the hinges, Manjoume was awake and on his feet, already throwing his jacket over his shoulders and shoving at his greasy hair, grime layered under his nails. Even though it contorted monstrous features, he recognized the look that Squinty raked over him, intensified by a blatant, raw disgust. Yellowed fangs showed against black-spotted gums. 

The look was that of an over-confident power-deck duelist going up against his zero-attack monsters, unaware that _he_ had the advantage, that he could bait and lead them into foolish attacks. Nothing could be more satisfying than wiping out a field full of high-level monsters and their arsenals of support. Comebacks led to the most exciting victories. 

He could work with this. 

“Don’t you have anything better to do than interrupt my afternoon nap?”

“The Supreme King requests your presence,” Squinty stated, even though ‘demands’ would have been more accurate, and then it happened again -- himself, outside the cell, being dragged towards the heavy dungeon door. The same two draconic guards were at the bottom of the stairwell, and they fell into formation, himself bordered by all things muscular and not-so-secretly hostile.

“Like, wouldn’t you guys rather be off and, oh, I don’t know, razing villages to the ground, chasing down frightened villagers…”

“Followers of the Supreme King obey his orders,” Scales grunted at him, and then, with unnecessary force, jerked Manjoume’s arm to the side. The next hall was new, other groups passing them. Trailing capes. Weapons ringed with gore. Prisoners in chains, the skin by their bounds rubbed raw, and-

Manjoume steadied himself.

Scales had a terrible card face.

“See, from what I understand, this is a very cutthroat world.” Not that he wanted to give them any _ideas_ , but- “Must be tough to advance, especially with so much competition out there.”

A green snout wrinkled, and Squinty’s warning glare was directed over Manjoume, pinpricks of red vibrant through the gaps in the visored helmet. While Manjoume had never been the best as interpreting Karen’s various ‘expressions,’ his focus _usually_ on keeping a solid meter of distance between himself and Jim’s temperamental partner, he was having much better luck with Scales. Not only had his attack connected, he had made a direct hit, revealing a sliver of something precious, glittering like gold dust in clouded river water. He grasped it, kept it hidden away next to the keys.

The third fact: the guards could be turned against each other, if they didn’t take his head off first.

\---

The hall ended at an arena, the tiered seating rising high, and overheard was the expanse of a grey sky, thick with clouds. 

Below was a frenzy, demons screaming from every side with their weapons drawn and lifted like banners, and the two duelists below were their entertainment: small fairy-like creatures with translucent wings punctured by arrows, quivering as they were made to fight. Cards were clutched tightly in their gnarled fingers, and the cruelty of the crowd, mouths wide with feverish shouts and cackles, was stunning even now, the shot of anger not enough to blind him. These fiends would watch the wings be ripped from a butterfly and marvel at the twitching wreck left behind.

And the duel just continued, every surge of the rancorous crowd taken in by an empty stare of gold, and Scales sent Manjoume to the ground at the side of a tapered throne, jawbones crossed at the highest point. 

“Stop this,” Manjoume shouted, and Scales kicked out his knees where he tried to stand, the gold unchanged, Judai’s features set exactly as they were before. And, unceasing, the crowd burst with cheers, with renewed laughter as one of the duelists, sinking to boney knees and shrinking into their tattered cloak, dipped below one-thousand points. Their opponent’s face was streaked with tears, those that fell sinking into the dirt below. 

He tried again, clawing for purchase. All around him was rot, putrid and disgusting.

It had to be carved out.

“Judai, you have to understand what he’s doing,” Manjoume rasped, and, fuck, he finally did it, rising up to his feet and forcing the Supreme King’s gaze higher. A sliver of a victory. A sign of recognition, almost too small to mean anything, but Manjoume was desperate. They were nearing a slaughter, the energy rising and rising, circling like a flock of vultures over carrion. The first death was coming. “H-He’s trying to get to you by showing you horrible things. It’s the same weak-minded reason why he’s keeping me around. He wants your despair, but, Judai, you have to push back. Focus on _him_ , the source of this pain. Focus, or else you will be-”

It happened quickly.

A draw he had noticed too late, the flicker of the card a small speck between the outstretched arms and glitters of drawn steel. Yellow sparks widened and then parted, leaving only an empty space, a scrap of shadow from where the other duelist, the victor, had reached a shaking arm out.

A blur, the cut on his forehead opening again. Overpowered, the victor was pulled away, lost in the maze of bodies that piled close, all blind with abandon, all showing teeth.

Manjoume’s teeth rattled with the next hit, the punishment for his lunge at the Supreme King, and-

\---

_Like his eldest brother, Shouji was aiming to conquer one branch of society, and his methods were similar, the main difference being the setting -- a glittering first-class restaurant with a curved, modern interior and ceilings banded with delicate mosaics, the noise from the diners below carrying. “Ah, you’ll have to forgive my little brother. Rules are rules, after all,” Shouji chided when the waiter bent at the waist to fill his wine glass, and there was a slight chuckle from the greying man next to him, a minister and the main target of this event._

_“I hope you’re taking your studies seriously at boarding school,” the man said, and Manjoume nodded. “Your brothers are incurring a great expense for your sake.”_

_“Yes, I understand that.” Because Shouji was looking at him, tapping the tablecloth with a manicured nail, Manjoume quickly added, “As the youngest in my family, I’m honoured to receive their support, and...I will not disappoint them.”_

_His presence here was because of Shouji. The minister had a young son of the same age, and there was a chance this man, renowned for his composure, would lower his guard._

_His presence here had not been a choice. This was a night were every second would pass like an hour, and if he spoke out of turn, Shouji’s glare would darken, contorting the smooth planes of his face into a wrinkled snarl._

_And like with his eldest brother, Shouji’s demeanour changed once they were in the car, the doors shut and the tinted windows up. Shouji used a driver, and after loosening his tie, he rifled through the minifridge._

_“Well, now we know when our dear minister will be taking his holidays, where his remote summer home is, and, crucially, that his staff are not to call him unless there’s an emergency. Now, tell me, what does all of this mean for us?”_

_With a sharp pull, Shouji uncorked a bottle, and Manjoume had no answer. His suit was stifling._

_“Honestly, you pull off the clueless act a little_ too _well,” Shouji said next. “Hirayama-san wants to tighten the new regulations on foreign imports even further, which would impact the supply lines for most of Chosaku’s companies, not to mention the Manjoume Group’s investments. So, if we have advanced knowledge of when this troublesome person will be, for our purposes, impossible to contact, then we can start to build the opposition against him. A few rumors here, some dinners there…”_

_In this zero-sum game, information determined the victor, and he tried not to flinch when Shouji leaned closer, his gaze unsteady._

_“Don’t look so judgemental, Jun. You use the same principles to win a duel. Analyze your opponent, counter their moves, exploit their weaknesses…”_

_“I’m not…judgemental.”_

_“Good.”_

\---

_And when his brothers cast him out, cursing to each other as they strode away, it was like those memories had deepened, the crushing fear behind them suddenly in the forefront, vivid like slashes of bright red. They were confusing memories, the layers of obligation broken up by doubt, distrust. But, by taking on defeat after defeat, he had learned that stains suited him, and he didn’t need the approval of anyone who called him worthless._

_Maybe information really was a weapon, capable of piercing through the thickest fortifications, but he thought of it differently than they did. It could also be a shield. It could even allow him to save others, or for others to save him._

_Under a blue sky, his rival had placed a weathered black coat within his reach, and with the heavy pulses of that alien light boring down on him, twisting and burning him from the inside, he had reached out for it._

\---

-and the guards didn't lock him back in the cell. They left him alone, breathing fast, in a sparse room, on a high floor. A delicate telescope stood on wooden legs by the only gap in the stone walls, an arrowslit. Shafts of moonlight ran along the smooth barrel, the lenses catching it and sparking, bright. 

Shuddering, he almost fell to the floor, those images growing starker and starker with every blink. The thin monsters, dressed in stained rags, could have been his own, fitting in with the notched, creased cards he had taken from the Reject Well, and he, left on the fucking sidelines, had been made to watch while-

“Snap out of it,” he mumbled to himself. He rubbed at his wet eyes. 

Opposite the telescope was a line of bookshelves, and a scroll was spread on the wooden table at the room’s center, bracketed by two high-backed chairs. All of this could be part of the Supreme King’s extended manipulation, a bunch of props designed to get a reaction out of him, like a school bully jabbing at the back of his neck with a pencil, wearing down his concentration. 

Or, the second option, nothing in this room had been staged, because this dimension’s overlord thought he was too stupid to escape. Maybe his death was close, the hour and method already decided.

Manjoume wiped at his face again.

He started with the telescope.

It was set on a village nestled in the gap between two stone-grey mountains, curls of smoke rising from the cluster of wooden houses, and human scouts patrolled the high walls, quivers on their backs. At the flash of a child, clinging to the woven tunic of a scout and looking up, Manjoume stepped back, and then he pivoted on his heel.

Something distant creaked, and he waited. The sealed door did not open. 

Next was the scroll laid across the table. It was a map, in thin, black ink. Below the outline of a wide castle was a mountain range, an ‘X’ at the base of a similar formation, two peaks with a small gap. The houses were represented by triangles.

The fourth fact: an attack was planned on the human village to the south, and whether or not Manjoume could do anything about it depending on him escaping, freeing Judai, and/or just not-dying in general. Easier said than done. 

"Great. Just great," he mumbled, and the Ojamas would have made for a well-timed distraction, but they were lost. Instead, he had only himself, pacing behind the table and trying to see through blurred eyes. The bookshelves should have been next, the contents right _there_ \-- yellow-edged parchments, books bound with animal hide. He could have taken something, maybe even hidden it in the folds of his jacket. A letter opener would have been ideal.

Instead, he froze at the first whisper of cloth, and then Judai walked past him, barefoot, the hem of a black robe trailing with every step. The long pants were loose, the smooth fabric brushing back over his ankles, and he stopped at the telescope, tilting his head to adjust a fastener under the eyepiece, a small, circular bolt of silver. The lines of his neck were grey with shadow, the robe closed over his sternum in a sharp ‘v’, and, like this, with dark bangs dripping over his eyes, the damp strands clinging together, the Supreme King stood without his armor, careless in how he turned his back to a prisoner, to a fellow duelist. The counterweight was adjusted next, the movements precise, and Manjoume was the idiot -- the total fucking _idiot_ with nothing in his head but static -- staring at him, at the thin point of Judai’s wrist when his sleeve fell back, his long-fingered hand splayed over the metal mount. 

“They were siblings.”

The words meant nothing at first, and but then Manjoume stepped back. He choked when Judai’s head was raised, bangs parting above the lurid gold. The fairy-like duelists, kneeling on a ground marked with the circular patterns of their dragged chains, had been siblings. 

“Y-You bastard…”

Manjoume should have lunged for this ruler, as if landing a solid punch would be enough to bring Judai to the surface, dredging him up from the darkness, but the Supreme King only turned and walked back to the map. Leaning over it, he added another set of houses to the valley that led up to the mountain range. With the same black ink, he drew in another ‘X’.

From climbing trees, scaling cliffs, and running through dense forests, branches wiping past, Judai usually wore a collection of scratches and bruises, marks of his stupid adventures that Manjoume, cursing, let himself fall into too often, too easily. The Supreme King’s hands were smooth, the skin unbroken over his knuckles, his raised tendons. Judai would have bitten his nails down, a distracting habit that Sho chided him for.

At that thought, Manjoume took a deep breath, exhaustion blooming as dark spots in his vision. 

“Judai, it’s so quiet without your Winged Kuriboh, that overgrown hairball. Honestly, do you have any idea how annoying that hooting is during lectures? Well, I mean, the lectures you _actually_ show up to…” He had to pause, almost choking again. An unyielding stare met his own. “If there’s one positive of this mess, it’s that I’ve had a nice break from the Ojama brothers. Ojama Yellow’s singing is like needles, especially first thing in the morning, so…”

No answer. Anything else -- even if led to something horrible, an expression that distorted Judai’s face into that of the monster within -- could have given him some information, a small _shard_ of possibility that he could clutch and keep safe, sealed inside his head. 

In silence, the Supreme King moved further away, and that’s when Manjoume saw what he had missed earlier, the second door in the shadow of the bookshelves. Auburn hair parted over the nape of his neck, a constellation of sun-darkened freckles sloping below the embroidered collar.

“Judai, you want to come back, don’t you?”

No answer.

A beat passed before the Supreme King returned with a thick, red book, the binding strained and creased, and he sat down, opened it, and reached for the quill again, the curled feather shifting with the motion. Items were crossed off a list. The language was unknown, the characters like joined squares and triangles. The scratching of the tip against the paper continued, unceasing, when the Supreme King spoke. 

“This body is a vessel for my will, but it is imperfect. Reflexes remain, shaped by needless memories. That is why you are here,” he stated, forcing Judai’s voice to be empty, the echo of another mind. “I will identify the weaknesses that this body reacts to, and then compensate for them, like sealing cracks on the rim of a vase. It would function regardless, but one version is superior, in that it is complete.”

“You’re lying,” Manjoume snapped. It could only be a lie, or else- “W-What, do you expect _me_ to fall for that? What a fucking joke... “

No answer. Scratch, scratch, scratch.

“Fine, whatever. I can play along, but if Judai’s really buried in there, then don’t you think the best way to get my, ah, _reactions_ is to let him out? Like, just for a second. I can beg and beg for him to come back. I might even shed a tear, for dramatic effect.”

Lies, but they were _his_ lies. At the first sign of Judai, he wouldn’t let go, not even if the tendrils of darkness trailing the Supreme King, like the fall of a tattered cape, rose up and seized him, their latent power obvious even now. A hum in the periphery. A threat unsaid but _there_.

No answer, and Manjoume threw a hand out, his target the inkwell positioned over the map, but it never connected. The bones of his wrist were pressed together until they almost snapped, a grinding sensation of pain against pain. A shift, and then the Supreme King yanked harder to the side, and Manjoume was on his knees, his eyes unseeing. Pain rammed hard against pain, maddening like a saw cutting against the grain, only this was his body, crushed by a brutal hand. 

This could rip him apart. 

But the pressure wouldn’t stop, not even with him, like this, kneeling within the castle’s walls. 

Judai had a callous along the inside of his index finger from tying fish lures, and Manjoume felt it -- the texture so strong like he had suddenly imagined it -- as the Supreme King continued to force new kinds of pain, building and building to the first crack of a bone.

\---

A blur, maybe only a few seconds, and then-

\---

“ _“Hey, if something terrible ever happens to Judai…”_

\---

And then the pressure was off, competing sensations flooding in, and the urge to _collapse_ and lie there against the stone was overwhelming, the weight of it increasing with every hurried gasp. But just bowing his head was shameful enough. 

Being made to kneel was unforgivable. 

When he looked up, Judai’s spread fingers were over him, and through the gaps, he saw those pupils widen, burning into the surging gold. 

\---

Manjoume Jun did not believe in destiny. He had in the past, back when his legacy had been designed to slot neatly into his family’s own, like a manufactured part of some larger machine. 

No, he did not believe in destiny, but, as the guards burst into the room and locked his arms behind his back, he wanted to believe that, no matter how this brutal cycle finally ended, Judai wouldn’t remember much, if anything at all. 

The guilt could be corrosive, and Judai had to come back from this.

He had to.

\---

_"Nice hat."_

_Dappled shadows passed over the grass from the forked leaves overhead, shifting in pale greens and yellows with every burst of wind, and Manjoume squinted when Judai, the sleeves of his signature jacket rolled up, flopped down next to him._

_"What are you doing?"_

_"Uh, relaxing?"_

_He snorted. "Yeah, because you do_ so _much during the day."_

_Judai just laughed. "Ah, it's nice to be appreciated…"_

_The tilted columns of the main building were visible through the gaps in the trees, their clusters spreading out towards the coastline. Next to him, rustling the grass with every movement, Judai had flung his arms and legs out, his head flat on the ground. Dappled shadows parted over his face, set in a smile that shouldn't have been so-_

_Damn it._

_"Why are you...here?"_

_Judai cracked one eye open. "Seems I know something that Thunder doesn't."_

_"...What?"_

_"This," Judai explained, rapping his knuckles against the bark, "is the best shade tree on the entire island. Believe me, I've checked." He closed his eyes again, the wind ruffling his already-hopeless mess of a hairstyle, the lighter strands pushed over the dark brown. "But don't worry. I'll share it with you, if you ask nicely."_

_"You…" Whatever. He had arrived first, escaping the afternoon heat of the Slifer dorm and its sagging walls. He would've fallen asleep like that, had it not been for the crunch of Judai's sneakers over some unfortunate twigs._

_Even the Ojamas were quiet now, a slumbering pile on his chest, and, without looking over, Manjoume knew Judai's stare was on him again. He lowered the brim of his hat until it hit his nose._

_"I'm not giving it over, so don't ask," Manjoume mumbled, and at the slight pause, he tapped its side. Across the front was 'MASTER SCAVENGER' in bold, white characters, and Asuka had the matching half of the set. Yesterday, he had seen her after playing tennis, surrounded by the girls from Obelisk Blue and wiping at the sweat on her neck with a loose towel. Her ball cap had been swiped by Junko, the brim sticking up._

_"First you win Genex, then the scavenger hunt… Guess I should take our rivalry more seriously…"_

_"Keep talking about Genex. Oh, and maybe repeat the part about my victory."_

_"...To be fair, I_ did _beat you during the tournament, but then I-"_

 _Immediately Manjoume shot up, an accusing finger leveled at Judai's face. The Ojamas rolled off and bounced off the ground. "In case you've_ forgotten, _I had to take my own cards back during that duel, since_ somebody _had them in his own deck."_

_"Yeah, I…" A brief hesitation, like a different shadow that overlaid the others, a flickering grey. "I had to snap you out of it, and a duel works better than words sometimes. At least, it's that way for me." When he laughed, Manjoume sat down again._

_Judai continued, his smile smaller than before. The wind changed._

_"You know, I remember how you yelled at me when I couldn't see my cards. We were by this cliff, and I...just kinda walked away. Pretty rude, right?"_

_"Obviously."_

_Not long after that, Manjoume had been held captive while the fortune teller had peeled back his walls with a knowing smirk, whispering of how his rivalry had deepened into something else. Tendrils of light had poured into his head and burned until everything had turned white._

_Apparently Judai had stolen a boat and gone on a space adventure involving a naked dolphin man, which sounded like a lot more fun than being brainwashed. It was yet-another example of how unfair the universe was._

_"Back then, you were trying to help me out, and when I got back, I was too caught up in my own problems to notice yours."_

_"You said something like that during our duel."_

_Judai hadn't moved, on his back with his arms flung out. A beetle made a slow crawl over his arm, and Manjoume waited for an answer, even though it felt dangerous to. With Fubuki's borrowed books, he tried to write poetry for Asuka every second night, but the words would fit together in such stupid, awkward ways, and Judai-_

_Judai was a distracting person._

_"Guess I'm not much of a hero after all."_

_"Stop that," Manjoume said, and, to make his point clearer, he jabbed at Judai's shoulder. "If you want sympathy, go find Sho, Kenzan, or any_ other _member of your cheer squad."_

_A laugh, brighter than before, and then Judai was looking at him. "Right, you're there for sarcastic jokes and mean comments. Sorry, I get it mixed up sometimes."_

_With a scowl, Manjoume muttered, "Out of all the trees on this island, you just_ had _to pick the same one as me."_

_"Well, if I'm being honest," Judai said next, propping himself up on his elbows, "that wasn't an accident. Although, you've already guessed that, haven't you?"_

_Too close._

_Far too close, and Manjoume, steadying himself, made a move to stand, ducking his head, and then Judai was suddenly two meters away, rocking back on his heels and snapping Manjoume's hat over his own shaggy head._

_"Oh, it even fits," Judai observed, running his fingers over the brim before making a familiar gesture. Gotcha. "Thanks for the present, Thunder. Didn't know you were such a nice guy underneath all the yelling and frowning, and… Ah, there's the frown I was thinking about, which means…"_

_"You_ idiot _," Manjoume yelped, even though it only made Judai's impish smirk wider. "Prepare yourself, because I'm going to-"_

\---

 _Judai had saved him from the Society of Light, but before that,_ more _than that, Judai had broken down the person he used to be -- vindictive, careless, and scared, so fucking scared that he had become numb to it._

_Judai drew others to his side, and they circled him like satellites. But that was a distance Manjoume -- foolishly, in those rare moments -- wanted to cross, as if he could just reach over, his fingers parting the yellowing blades of grass, and take Judai's hand in his own, as if it could really be that simple._

_Deep in his thoughts, counting the scattered leaves overhead, he stupidly wondered if Judai would ever feel the same. It was unlikely._

_Unlikely turned into impossible, a zero-percent chance, and, cursing to himself, Manjoume ripped up a chunk of grass and threw it at nothing. The wind took the mess away._

\---


	3. Steeled

\---

Manjoume Thunder did not take well to boredom, which was basically unavoidable when he was stuck in a cell for upwards of twenty hours a day. 

Well, probably. How the days were divided in this demonic hellscape was not clear at all. Whenever he had the rare privilege of looking at the sky, always framed by jagged stones, it had been that same looming grey. Because Daitokuji-sensei had enjoyed rattling off random facts between their lectures, he knew there was a connection between light exposure and mood, but Manjoume wasn't entirely sure that he wanted to remember the details. 

He’d gotten pretty good at that lately -- shoving things into boxes and not cracking any of their locks open again, no matter how achingly bored he was. But over the course of his stay here -- gathering more and more blood under this nails, all of it his own -- those boxes had started to pile up.

A weird routine had been forced on him. Eat, just enough to keep him from dying. Go, through the cold halls of the castle, the four guards a barricade around him. Watch, the Supreme King, silent and without his armor, sort through the contents of that tower room, remaining unphased no matter what Manjoume shouted at him. Go, whenever the guards burst in.

There were small variations. Sometimes the two dragon guards, who he suspected had less-than-human intelligence and were essentially over-muscled lizards with swords, stopped at the top of the staircase rather than the bottom, but any meaning as to  _ why  _ was lost on him. It could’ve been part of their guard schedule. Or a random quirk. 

By now, Misawa would've figured out the guard rotations, the dimensions of the castle and everything inside it, and plotted out an escape route, complete with some careful applications of force to get out of the cell and past that heavy dungeon door (Manjoume had gotten as far as squeezing and shaking the bars until his palms had torn open, which had been equal parts disgusting and pointless). Asuka -- talented, determined Asuka, so bright that just imagining her here felt like a betrayal -- would have found enough strength to keeping going, keeping her doubts back. And, fuck, even Sho would have stopped picking needless fights with the guards. Those always had the same outcome. 

Every lost fight tore a strip off whatever it was that kept his thoughts straight, a support that was now at its limit and creaking with the strain. Every time he saw the Supreme King without his armor -- wreathed with moonlight as he adjusted the telescope, every centimeter raised or lowered leading to new orders marked out in thin, black ink -- it almost snapped, which would have meant the end for him, a toy balanced over an abyss. 

What did he have left if not his pride? Without it, how could he  _ ever  _ look at Judai again? Or Asuka? Fubuki? Or-

"Stop it," Manjoume muttered to himself, shoving at his knotted bangs, and it just continued. 

Drip.

Drip, drip, drip-

\---

Drip, drip, drip-

\---

_ The campfire had been Sho’s idea, even though the uneven rectangle of the Slifer Red dormitory, its roof sagging towards the middle, was visible through the gaps in the trees. Apparently the fire added, quote, ‘atmosphere’, but the main effect, as far as Manjoume was concerned, was to send gusts of smoke in his direction at random times and stink up his clothes. “Smoke’s good for keeping bugs away,” Judai had said with a sage-like tone, and he had smoothly dodged Manjoume’s smack at his arm, Fubuki plucking a single ukulele string in the background.  _

_ As a responsible member of Obelisk Blue, Asuka was the acting student representative for a meeting with the school’s senior staff, and her absence was more than just an empty space in their lop-sided circle around the fire. Her words from last week -- during the scavenger hunt that had smoothed out their differences under a night’s sky, a wild flower’s petals falling loose from her blonde strands -- still echoed inside his head, and maybe he was too silent while Sho, the self-designated leader of their group, explained the rules of the party game. Fubuki’s elegant features were creased with concern.  _

_ Fubuki had treated him coldly for converting Asuka, because even if he had been controlled by something else, the simple fact was Fubuki’s own sister had been hurt. And, sure, he’d been forgiven by both of the Tenjouin siblings, but he still hated that part of his past, different than the stains he took pride in. It was an ugly failure, much uglier than all the rest, and he would have blotted it out for their sakes. _

_Of course, Ojamas had the uncanny ability of choosing the_ worst _possible time to appear_ , _which was why_ _Ojama Yellow popped out of a confetti ball and then floated down, wringing his hands together, and the brothers followed with matching frowns._

_ “Knock it off,” Manjoume mumbled, his mouth against one sleeve, and the trio just sputtered in response, tears beading in Ojama Yellow’s tiny eyes. “I’m not messing around, so just...stop looking at me like that.” _

_ “B-Boss…” _

_ The Ojamas could make Judai suspicious, but, predictably, his attention was fixed on Sho, their ‘leader’ standing on a log and striking a pose with each new rule. Sometimes Judai’s inability to notice him was useful, although Manjoume- _

_ Thinking about  _ that  _ topic would make everything ten times worse, and, letting out a heavy sigh, Manjoume dropped his head forward, getting a close-up of the dirt, moss, and twigs below. Patches of dirt clung to his dark jeans, mud on the torn edges of his signature coat. No brochure, commercial, or recruitment agent for Duel Academia had mentioned that an education here would result in a series of existential crises that, evidently, weren’t going to stop anytime soon. In particular, a warning about the brainwashing would’ve been  _ nice _. _

_ Suing the school for damages would probably fuck with his graduation, not to mention his chances of ever dueling Kaiba. _

_ Exhaling, Manjoume raised his head again. “What a waste of time. Why do I bother hanging around you idiots?” _

_ Sho’s mouth clicked shut mid-speech, and then he drawled out, “Uh, because no one else will hang out with  _ you _?” _

_ “As if Manjoume Thunder needs to settle for your company…” But before he could stand, Fubuki had cleared his throat and strummed the ukulele again. Ignoring this person would be unforgivable, and so Manjoume stopped, raising his hands from where they had been on his jeans, brushing off the dry dirt.  _

_ “You should stay for this honesty game,” Fubuki stated, his white teeth flashing. “You never know what could be revealed, and isn’t anticipation crucial to both love and dueling?” Another note sounded. _

_ “...An ‘honesty game?” Manjoume repeated, and Sho threw something at his head. _

_ “S-Seriously?! You’re even worse than my aniki! Like, I just explained how-” _

_ “I’m sure Manjoume will pick up the rules as we go along,” Misawa said after shutting the textbook, ‘Advancements in Algebraic Topology,’ that had been spread across his knees. Sho blinked quickly. _

_ “Uh…. Misawa-kun, how long have you been here for?” _

_ “E-Excuse me?” _

_ “Come on, let’s get started,” Judai interrupted, a winning smile directed at the group, and Winged Kuriboh trilled in agreement. Begrudgingly, Sho sat down, and in seconds it was decided that Misawa would keep score. A piece of graph paper was divided into neat columns.  _

_ Scowling at the fire as it burned down, Manjoume stayed, even though an honesty game was the last thing he wanted to play, the stakes too high. Judai tilted his head back at Fubuki’s next joke, and the night continued on, the pinpricks of stars like fireflies that had darted out of reach. _

\---

Drip, drip-

\---

_ Typical for an invention of Marufuji Sho, the game was insultingly simple, especially considering the world-class tacticians in their group. _

_ Going around the circle, each player would ask the others a question, and if anyone suspected that an answer was a lie, they would put a hand up. After five rounds, the player with the most points would be the loser, and Sho was annoyingly vague about exactly  _ what _ that would entail. Overall, it seemed like a variation on Truth or Dare, a game that others had played at his boarding school. Manjoume, an elite even among the children of billionaires and bloodline royalty, had never lowered himself to joining in. _

_ Crackling, the fire continued to burn down, making the shadows from their arms and legs into long, wide shapes that flickered over the uneven ground, and Pharaoh the cat was a snorting pile of fur and drool in Judai’s lap, that thick tail flicking lazily with every wheezing breath. Sho’s rules were paper-thin, and Manjoume joined in when Misawa pointed out a clear contradiction, his own taunts making the Vehicroid-user sputter and whine. Before the first round began, Kenzan burst through a twiggy brush and was immediately smacked by a bag of chips, Sho’s scream of surprise loud enough to make Manjoume curse and cover his ears.  _

_ Chances were that the game would be a total disaster, and Manjoume, sitting between a very fidgety Kenzan and a stoic Misawa, resigned himself to a miserable, miserable fate. Swaying with the motion, Fubuki strummed a self-composed song on the ukulele, his expression serene. The lyrics were about the importance of love to a fulfilling life. _

_ “As the inventor of the game, it’s only fair that I start,” Sho stated, and Manjoume watched Misawa clamp down on a logical argument, the kind that would’ve started with, “ _ Actually,  _ considering the history of recreational games…”. In blocks of saturated colours, the Vehicroids gathered behind their controller, faint rumbles and beeps sounding beneath the fire’s crackle, and the Ojamas were crouched over a line of ants, barely illuminated by the orange glow, and mumbling to each other in soft voices. With the ease of a reflex, Manjoume checked his deck holster, the familiar textures of those card passing under a thumb, and mentally traced his steps that morning. With one-hundred-percent accuracy, he had placed his extra cards in the locked drawer, where they would be safe. _

_ “Well, then let us begin,” Fubuki added, and, winking, he twirled the instrument once. _

_ Sho composed himself, and the first question (technically a statement, and Manjoume, again, watched Misawa’s face twitch with barely-concealed nerd rage) was simple enough. No one would doubt his answer to it. _

_ “So, I want to know about everyone’s ideal type,” Sho said, and Judai stopped petting Pharaoh, his eyebrows raised high. _

_ “Type of...monster card?” _

_ Sho deflated, and the ‘smack’ was from Fubuki’s head hitting his palm. “N-No, not  _ that _ ,” Sho snapped back, and Judai just stared at him. “Aniki, your ideal type of  _ girl _.” _

_ “Like… Burst Lady?” _

_ “No! Not like…” Huffing, Sho leveled a finger at the Slifer Red, and Manjoume considered opening a bag of snacks, since Kenzan looked one insult away from leaping over the fire and defending ‘Judai-no-aniki’. “Unless you want to  _ date  _ Burst Lady, that’s not a good answer!” _

_ Even during geography class, Judai never looked  _ that  _ confused, the space between his eyebrows creased. “Uh, what? Why...would I do that?” _

_ “Fine.  _ Fine _. I’ll give you an example,” Sho shouted, and he puffed out his chest, clearly enjoying the attention. “My ideal type is someone like the Dark Magician Girl. You guys remember, right? She showed up on Duel Spirit Day, and in the  _ cutest  _ costume too! The details on her armor were perfect, and her little gestures when her attacks went through… Ahh, best day ever....” _

_ “Uhh… Is this only about looks?” Judai asked, and Sho spun around.  _

_ “Oi, you calling me shallow?!” _

_ “...Probably?” _

_ “Maybe Judai-kun needs more time to think about his answer,” Fubuki said smoothly, flipping his hair back. “Look deep into your heart, and the answer will be clear.” _

_ Those creases stayed exactly where they were, and Judai shrugged as he slowly answered with, “...Sure?” By his shoulder, Winged Kuriboh bobbed in place, and then the little spirit hooted out something that made his eyebrows climb even higher. “Hey, maybe  _ you  _ should play instead of me, buddy.” _

_ “Getting advice from a duel spirit is cheating,” Sho declared, and then Manjoume found himself on the receiving end of Sho’s enthusiasm, that outstretched finger leveled at  _ his  _ face. “Oi, Thunder. Translate whatever Winged Kuriboh said for the group.” _

_ “One, it doesn’t work that way. Two,” he added, sneering, “I don’t take orders from upstarts like you.” _

_ Before there could be a rematch of Sho versus Thunder, the informal kind that usually ended with one of them sprawled on the ground and the other attempting a chokehold, Judai leaned forward, the firelight on the high angles of his face, pushing new colours into his focused eyes. His eyelashes were still dark. “Guess I’m lucky you can’t understand Winged Kuriboh. Me and my partner have shared a lot of secrets.” _

_ “Don’t tease me,” Manjoume muttered back, and Judai just laughed at that. His eyes darted away. _

_ And, so, the game started, the first player offered up for judgement being Misawa, whose stoic act visibly cracked when he cleared his throat. Evidently, ranting about formulas and equations was much easier for the resident perfectionist of Ra Yellow than talking about matters of the heart. “W-Well, I must confess that I...haven’t given this subject much, ah, thought, although I should have a, uh, s-satisfactory response, so-” _

_ “Hurry it up,” Sho chided, and Misawa nodded quickly. _

_ “From my, ah, limited understanding, romance isn’t that different from chemistry, in that…” He broke off, and Manjoume flinched when Misawa suddenly shot up to his full height, Fubuki clapping to encourage the, quote, ‘show of passion’. “My ideal type would be someone with determination and charisma, someone capable of challenging me and pushing my abilities to new heights. Tania, the mistress of my heart, she-” _

_ “Okay, okay! I’m...going to stop you right there,” Sho said, and a short argument ensued, Sho insisting that, “Everybody already knows Misawa-kun has a thing for cat girls,” and Misawa, his voice booming, shouting back that, “Calling my lady a ‘cat girl’ is a grave insult, as you should refer to such a talented duelist with the respect that she deserves!” All the noise was doubled by the Vehicroids, honking in their support for Sho, which was  _ totally  _ unnecessary, and even the Ojamas joined in, hooting and waving their little fists in the air. _

_ And, by the time Misawa sat back down again, his arms crossed, no one had raised an objection, probably because, seriously, it would be  _ impossible  _ to. If Manjoume had accused him of lying  _ now _ , even as a joke, there was an extremely high probability that he would wake up the next morning to a fifty-page argumentative essay being dropped on his bed. Or Misawa would immediately challenge him to a chemistry-based duel, which would be a fucking pain, since those monster cards always gave him annoying flashbacks to study sessions on the periodic table and, like, chemical bonds. Or something. _

_ Maybe the Ojamas were right about one thing -- he needed to take studying more seriously. _

_ “-do we really have to hear Manjoume-kun go on and  _ on  _ about Asuka-san for ten minutes? Ahh, I’m starting to regret this question…” _

_ “Too bad,” Manjoume shouted, and, because no Ra Yellow could out-drama the one and only Manjoume Thunder, he stood up and threw one foot onto the nearest hunk of wood, his arms spread in a grand gesture. “As many of you know, I, the greatest duelist of our generation, am now under the tutelage of Duel Academia’s genius of love, Tenjouin Fubuki, and-” _

_ “‘Tutelage’?” Judai whispered, and Fubuki gave him a fond smile. _

_ “It means to teach someone.” _

_ “...Oh. Thanks.” _

_ “-AND,” Manjoume repeated, the Ojamas throwing confetti like roses at his feet, “it should come as no surprise who the object of my deliciate affection is. The flower of Duel Academia. The worthy icon of Obelisk Blue, renowned for her many graces and honest heart.” _

_ An approving nod from Fubuki, and yet, as Manjoume ran a hand through his wild hair, he hesitated, aware that no one here had doubted him, but they should have. This wasn’t the truth.  _

_ This was the wall that kept it back, and, slowly, he sat down again, careful to keep that arrogant sneer in place. The turn passed to Kenzan, then Fubuki.  _

_ “Don’t be nervous,” was the advice Fubuki gave, inclining his head towards Judai, who just blinked owlishly. The firelight turned and turned against his hair, wayward strands curving over his cheek. The brushes of red suited him, just small bursts of colour that changed as the breeze fanned the lingering flames, and Judai’s smile was different at the edges, smaller than it usually was.  _

_ It was unfair how Manjoume couldn’t notice anything else, the thrum of the waves gone. Everything else was gone. _

_ Damn it. _

_ “Ideal type… Sho, you really want to know that?” _

_ “Uh… Yeah? You  _ never  _ talk about girls or crushes or, like, anything that’s not a trading card.” _

_ Another laugh from Judai, and Manjoume, waiting, knew that he was staring too hard. When Judai looked up, it was only for an instant, and then his eyes dropped down, his fingers tracing circles on the sleeping cat. “Not to be a jerk, but you probably wouldn't believe me if I told you.” _

_ “Aniki?” _

_ “Hey, go easy on me,” Judai said with a sly look, and then he moved back, his smile flickering into something wide and honest. “Oh, Asuka. You want in?” _

_ Like the others, Manjoume just gaped in surprise as she stepped into the firelight, folding her skirt carefully when she kneeled next to the hero duelist. “I see you’ve started a game without me,” she said with a soft grin, and Judai ducked his head, his boyish features bright.  _

_ “You up for playing a few rounds?” _

_ “That depends on what  _ exactly  _ you’re doing out here,” she replied, and Sho awkwardly coughed, whatever explanation he had been trying to form cut off by Judai, a magnetic person in the dim half-light. The forest’s shadows banded his hands, divided the red of his jacket.  _

_ “It’s a question game. So, Asuka, what’s your ideal type?” _

_ And Manjoume, sputtering, felt himself bolt up to his full height, because, damn it, you can’t just ask Asuka  _ that _. Sho was quicker, leaping over to shake Judai by the arms, his head bobbing back and forth wildly, and- _

_ Frowning, Asuka replied, “Type of what? Monster card?” _

_ “See? Asuka agrees with me, which means-” _

_ “A-Aniki, you’re the worst!” _

_ Eventually, a combination of Chronos-sensei and the late hour forced an end to the game, only on its second round, and Manjoume followed the others to Slifer Red, Kenzan and Sho arguing about the bunk situation while Judai, his fingers laced behind his head, took the lead. Winged Kuriboh bobbed with each step. Somehow, Judai had gotten away without answering the question himself, and, trying to stop the tremor spreading down his wrists, making his hands clench and shake, Manjoume tried to block out how it felt when, for a split second, Judai had looked at his eyes and then down to his mouth, the movement so quick that it had to be an accident. _

_ It  _ had  _ to be, because the chance of anything else was set to zero percent. Anything else could be traced back to those foolish dreams, and, staring straight ahead, Manjoume took in the familiar sight of Judai’s turned back, the wind running through his creased collar.  _

\---

_ -and, cursing to himself, Manjoume ripped up a chunk of grass and threw it at nothing. The wind took the mess away. _

\---

Drip, drip-

\---

But the next change in that routine wasn't minor at all, and with the cheery order to, "Look presentable, and don't waste time," Manjoume was unceremoniously shoved into a new room, the massive doors quickly sealed behind him. 

He could be hallucinating, because this was an underground hot springs, complete with an eerie glow from the white-blue exposed rocks, veined with fainter, glittering colours. 

As far as halluncations went, this one was really fucking good, but he stood for a long moment with his hands at his lapels, running over the many gaps and tears in the fabric, a worn, mottled black.

He had to weigh the complete,  _ utter  _ relief of a steaming-hot bath against the prickly, awkward feeling of undressing in this unknown, hidden place. But the swirls of pale green water quickly swallowed that counterargument whole, and Manjoume felt himself go boneless at the shock of warmth, because this was easily the best damn bath he'd ever taken, knots of tensions suddenly released and-

Clouds of red-brown followed his hands as they unfurled under the water, and the sight sobered him, a reminder stronger than any other of what this place really was. 

The Supreme King's grip had bruised his wrist, a blot of purple that had darkened at the center. 

\---

_ "Hey, if something terrible ever happens to-" _

\---

He could not fail here, not for the others, and not for himself.

Without him, those pathetic duel spirits would lose any strength they had left, regained so slowly after that long isolation in the Reject Well. And he hadn’t debuted in the Pro League yet, giving a new meaning to his family name. He hadn’t paid off those debts that tied him to his brothers still.

Some things could not be left unfinished. 

All of these horrors had followed the absence left by Johan Andersen, pierced by fractured beams of rainbow light as a legendary dragon had uncoiled itself over him, its massive wings spreading in pale arches that had dominated the sky. Maybe finding him would unravel the shadows left behind.

Or maybe it wasn’t that simple at all.

\---

_ “You got something on your…” _

_ Flat on his back, Manjoume stared up at Judai, who did a motion eerily similar to Pharaoh cleaning his paw, minus the tongue part. A few seconds, and then Manjoume translated the mixed message to something like, ‘You have food on your face, right here.’ _

_ With a snort, he rubbed at his cheek, the remainder of his curry bun trailing crumbs over his turtleneck. “Don’t you have anything better to do than bother me?” he snapped, but, even when he put his hand down again, Judai just kept looking at him, brown eyes narrowed at the corners. “What? Did I miss something?” _

_ “Hmm? Oh, n-no.” In a strange, jerky motion, Judai stepped back and spun in place, the ladder over his shoulders bobbing wildly. “Well, see yah around! I’m off to get my own lunch.” _

_ But, by the time Manjoume scrambled to his feet, Judai was already at the top of the ridge, throwing a quick arm around Johan before continuing along the dirt path, probably to ransack a staff-only room. Their heads were ducked together, Johan’s bright laughter carrying, chiming like struck bells. _

_ “What an idiot,” he grumbled to himself, lying back down on the grass and shutting his eyes. Eventually, the babble of the Ojamas melded with the rasp of the ocean breeze, punctuated by the creaks from the branches overhead.  _

_ Before the transfers had showed up, the chance had already been at zero percent. If possible, it was in the negatives now, and Manjoume clicked his tongue.  _

_ How annoying. _

\---

_“No way. Shaved ice is the best_ _thing on a hot day,” Judai stated, waving a creased copy of_ Duelist Today, _Sho in the corner and hogging the fan._

_ Lying across the bottom bunk, his feet dangling off the edge, Johan chuckled to himself. The ever-present cat spirit purred on his chest, its translucent paws kneading at the folds in his lavender shirt. The sleeves were rolled up, a sign of the heat. “Not to be rude, but you haven’t tried soft ice. I haven’t even mentioned the toppings yet,” Johan added with a smile, and the spirit mewed in agreement, the other Crystal Beasts a shimmer passing over them both.  _

_ “Ah, stop talking about  _ food _ ,” Sho whined, but Manjoume, moving from his position in the doorway, quickly gave Sho something to  _ actually  _ complain about. After unplugging the fan, he lifted it up and promptly left, the chord bouncing off the faded boards of Slifer Red’s outside walkway. _

_ Chaos broke out, six arms suddenly locked around Manjoume’s legs, Judai’s hooked around his knees. It made the whole ‘cool escape plan’ of his  _ difficult  _ to complete, and, cursing, Manjoume tried again to rip himself loose. No such luck. _

_ Urgh. _

_ “Look, I get that being around Judai makes people dumb, like some kind of moron virus,” Manjoume began, and when Sho pinched him, he started kicking, “but, come on, at least one of you should be able to still  _ read _.” _

_ “It’s too hot to read,” Sho yelped, and Judai, with a heavy sigh, banged his forehead against the walkway. Manjoume managed one step before the effort wasn’t worth it, especially because  _ he  _ was the only one whose image required him to wear black, no matter that the temperature was pushing forty. _

_ Wielding the fan in one hand, he steadied himself and then addressed the pile on the floor, the Ojamas, even sweatier and wrinklier than usual, hooting in support and throwing confetti on Johan’s cat, those tapered ears flicking back. “I even wrote it twice, once on the stand and once on the base. See? ‘Property of Manjoume Thunder, Location: The Manjoume Room.’” _

_ “That’s...definitely where we got the fan from,” Johan said with a sheepish grin, and when he picked himself off the walkway, he offered Judai and Sho each a hand up. In a blur, the cat spirit was chasing Ojama Yellow, the screams somewhat distracting, and- _

_ And Manjoume flinched when Judai, his grin disarming in the worst possible way, suddenly put a hand on his shoulder. “Well, it’s really nice of you to invite us over, Thunder. I won’t say ‘no’ to an offer like that.” _

_ “W-What?! I didn’t-” _

_ With a nod, Sho walked past him and after Judai, somehow in possession of the fan again. “Yeah, Manjoume-kun. Thanks for the invite. Say, you got any more of those jelly snacks? I like the melon-flavoured ones…” _

_ “I-If I do, it’s none of your… Oh, whatever. Not like they’re listening,” Manjume muttered darkly, turning up the collar of his jacket, and he watched Judai and Sho throw the front door open, both yelping something about the air conditioning (“Ah! Cold! Cold! Too cold!” “Oi, why are you so stingy with the fan when you’ve got  _ air conditioning?!”).  _ With a swishing tail, Ruby Carbuncle pranced in next, Ojama Yellow hanging from her mouth with a stunned expression, and Ojama Green and Ojama Black were quick to follow, both yelling out the details of their ‘rescue mission.’ _

_ On a Sunday.  _ This  _ was what Manjoume had to deal with on a fucking  _ Sunday.

_ “Ah, she’ll let go, don’t worry. Ruby’s the playful type,” was what Johan said next, and it took Manjoume’s sweat-addled brain a few seconds to make the pieces click. He snorted. _

_ “Yellow probably deserves it. Although, my patience might run out if your walking hairball doesn’t learn to behave itself soon.” _

_ “Hmmm… You got a point there,” Johan admitted, and, even though the air-conditioned room was less than three meters away, they were both standing outside, Johan’s cheery grin directed at him as the heat continued to pour down. Johan reached for his deck next, shifting out the top cards, and the spirits within them bolstered, their energies pulsing out. “That goes for the rest of you guys too. As guests here on Academy Island, we’ve gotta make a good impression, right?” _

_ “You’ve already screwed that up by being late to your own entrance ceremony,” Manjoume muttered, and there was Johan’s laugh again, the flutter of wingbeats behind it. Inside their cards, the remaining Crystal Beasts babbled to each other, the overlapping words just nonsense to Manjoume, but Johan grinned wider than before as he put his deck away.  _

_ “Everyone at North Academy still goes on and on about the great Manjoume Thunder,” Johan said, and when Manjoume arched an eyebrow, he continued in the same loose, rambling way. “It’s a shame I had to transfer in late, but, hey, now I know who all of those stories are about. Maybe I’ll get some new ones to bring back too.” _

_ “If you  _ hadn’t  _ transferred in late,” Manjoume stated, unblinking as he faced the master of the Crystal Beasts, someone even Pegasus J. Crawford had acknowledged as a genius, “I would’ve cracked those Crystal Beasts of yours on my path to the top. So what if you’re the number one now? That title doesn’t mean much without me around, so don’t even think about-” _

_ In response, Johan flinched and quickly held up his hands in mock surrender, the kind of over-the-top gesture that Judai would’ve done, and the resemblance became  _ stark  _ for a moment, as if the low purrs of the Crystal Beasts had morphed into the muffled whispers of the Neo-Spacians. The stars contained by Judai’s cards resonated with each other, like an electric current that could barely be felt -- just a suggestion of the power that connected them all, of the lines that spanned their constellation.  _

_ “Wait, wait!” Johan exclaimed, laughter building behind his voice. “Ah, I guess I’ve gotten on your bad side. Sorry about that…” _

_ “You haven’t,” Manjoume said, and he almost stopped there. He  _ should  _ have stopped there, because Johan wasn’t an idiot. Those duel spirits had given him their complete, binding loyalty. “You...haven’t given me a reason to dislike you, Johan. Try to keep it that way.” _

_ “I’ll do my best,” Johan replied in the same upbeat voice, but his expression had changed, narrowed at the corners, and, yes, Manjoume  _ definitely  _ shouldn’t have tried to throw up those defenses. They were paper-thin, and they would crumble fast. “Well, let’s get inside! Ah, bringing up North Academy just reminded me about the temperatures there… Maybe it’s just me, but I’d rather freeze than sweat like this…” _

_ And the chaos inside was multiplied by a factor of ten when Rei burst in and demanded that they, with the exception of her ‘darling’ Judai, leave ‘her’ room, but the sudden appearance of five Ra Yellows, all whining about their dormitory’s broken cooling system, started another argument on top of that one, and Manjoume, left with no other options, found himself sulking on the corner of his sky-blue couch and chewing through the remainder of his orange-flavoured candy. At least the interlopers from Ra Yellow had brought their  _ own  _ snacks, which was more than he could say for the residents of Slifer Red. With iridescent wings and soft-edged scales, duel spirits glided between the gaps made by the students, and Manjoume’s Rescue Well spirits, their cards tucked in his inside pocket, joined in slowly. Delicate fairy-type monsters, in dark blues and pale reds, flitted into their reality. _

_ Two duels has already broken out, Judai hanging off Johan as the transfer student, blinking widely, pointed at Misawa’s Water Dragon. A few jokes, and then Judai, his smile like sunlight, leaned over to explain the kanji, the fingers on his right hand curled in Johan’s vest, and something sharp turned inside Manjoume’s chest. He tried to ignore it. _

_ He really did. _

\---

When Johan, the herald of Rainbow Dragon, had stayed in that other dimension, their abnormal-but-still- _ okay _ lives at Duel Academia had been shattered, Judai just the one who showed it the most, the tense lines on his face like cuts that wouldn’t heal over. Morning lectures would have been impossible to sit through, every character scratched onto the chalkboard like a bad joke. Battles over fried shrimp and overdue homework would have been pointless, the sparks of actual emotion gone, leaving only hollow, empty imitations behind.

Those annoying, vindictive emotions -- strong whenever Judai and Johan had run off together -- had been reduced to nothing so easily, shadows banished by the burst of a strong light. A thousand times, Manjoume had remembered how Ruby Carbuncle, mewing, would lean against Johan, and even though the touch couldn’t reach her, he would still run a hand over the outline of her head, careful to avoid the slight dip before her ears. 

A member of their group had been left behind, and that reality had made their actions inevitable. It had made them cross dimensions again.

It had become the catalyst for Judai’s fall.

\---

Although Manjoume had been told “not to waste time,” the guards sure did that themselves, as they left him there for what  _ had  _ to be three hours, minimum. The humid air, warm and soothing, beat the mad drip-drip-drip of his cell and its choking dark, and he found himself doing something that would’ve had the Ojamas screeching at him in wide-eyed confusion.

He was doing laundry. Well, sort of.

Apparently demons hadn’t invented laundry detergent yet, and the bar of soap, singular, had crumbled within seconds.

More clouds of dirt had shifted and broken within the churning water, and the effort of wringing his clothes until they were dry-ish had been one-hundred-percent worth it. He let his bangs trace wet shapes over his face, his feet in the water still, his shoes and socks in a pile next to him. From all sides, the raw edges of that unknown mineral glowed, and, as he stared at their elongated cracks and scratches in silence, he had to laugh at himself. Really, had he almost given up? From  _ this _ ?

What a fucking joke. 

When the doors flew open, he greeted Squinty with a drawl of, “What took you so long?”, and he rolled his eyes when that iron grip closed around his arm and hauled him to his feet. “Guess the Supreme King was annoyed by my appearance, as if his own orders weren’t the cause of it.”

Predictably, the one to crack a jaded smirk was Scales. If Squinty felt emotions besides irritation and aggression was yet to be determined. 

One hallway later, and Manjoume knew they were going towards the highest level of the castle. The Supreme King would be there, waiting. 

Only, this time Manjoume had a different strategy. 

( _ But it had been so futile in the end, like trying to make a trap out of nails and twine for an opponent who could crush mountains with only a thought, continents breaking under his lightest touch.) _

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Assorted Notes:
> 
> Ice Cream?: I decided to give Johan a, err, preference for Danish softis, probably with rainbow sprinkles to be on-theme with his beasts, whereas Judai goes for shaved ice, probably like kakigori with syrup and whatnot, since that’s a popular summertime thing in Japan. 
> 
> Johan/Manjoume Stuff: In season 1, Manjoume ends up at North Academy and eventually becomes its champion after defeating the other students, and yet he doesn’t seem to recognize Johan, who first shows up in season 3 as North Academy’s representative. So, for the purpose of coherency, I’m just...making it so Johan transferred in after Manjoume had already returned to Academy Island. 
> 
> Manjoume’s Study Habits: There’s a throw-away line in season 3 from the Ojamas when Manjoume is researching Amon on the computer. It’s something along the lines of, “Oh, you’re actually studying for once!”. While Manjoume clearly has good grades in canon, he’s not, like, Misawa-levels of perfect when it comes to hitting the books. Shame, Thunder. Big Shame.
> 
> Flashbacks?: There will be less italics in the future, as the plot is picking up from here. I apologize for how long some of the flashbacks are. I know italics can be annoying to read.


	4. Challenged

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Infernal/Wicked Canon: This is the card that Lord Brron uses in season 3 to activate the emotion runes placed on Manjoume, Asuka, Fubuki, Kenzan, and Sho. For the purposes of this fic, I’m assuming that the Supreme King ended up with the card and can access/read the pages, because, you know, worldbuilding reasons. 
> 
> Formatting: Some of the formatting here is weird (the italics, mainly). I'll try to fix it later, although I'm ???? why it keeps happening in the first place.
> 
> What's...happening?: I swear this is hurt/comfort, emphasis on that last part existing. Later.

**\---**

A narrow staircase to the castle’s highest level, and then he was sealed in, alone with the silent figure by the telescope, Judai’s long fingers used to adjust the intricate metal pieces. He swallowed down the humiliation of that moment, of the time he had let that beast remain cloaked by Judai’s skin, and focused on his opening move, tracing the contours of it again and again.

Escaping the room through brute force was unlikely, the lack of food leaving his body numb in places, like he had pulled an all-nighter to finish a report for Chronos-sensei -- scrawling out sentences with half-closed eyes and the Ojamas’ pitchy laughter in his ears, the Reject Well spirits a crown-like blur by the ceiling. Plus, there was the added threat of the Supreme King’s unnatural strength, embodied by the translucent rings of shadow ghosting Judai’s knuckles and disappearing into the folds of his robe when he tilted his arm back, rolling with the motion like drops of rain.

Predictably, the tyrant had not acknowledged him directly, but Manjoume could see the tendril-like darkness skirting across the floor, brushing the edges of his shoes, and then retreating, the jagged outlines splitting when they neared the Supreme King and joined with him, the union seamless. A wrong step, and that golden stare would be on him, pinning him in place like an insect on a dissection board. Pieces of him could be carved out. His insides could be spilled.

Challenges existed to be overcome, and Manjoume Jun was not a coward.

This wall between them needed to fall, and his hands itched with that urge, simple but electrifying. It muted that growing, piercing static.

Just staying silent was a deviation from Manjoume’s routine, which had always ended with himself hoarse and shaking with anger, and yet the Supreme King was unphased, baring the nape of Judai’s neck to the blue-silver moonlight. It traced the embroidered collar of the loose robe. With a rustle of cloth, he crossed the room, removed a book from the shelf, and then set it before himself at the table, the high-backed chair perfectly centered. 

A second chair was opposite to it, and, scraping against the stones as he yanked it out, Manjoume sat down. After throwing his legs onto the table, he crossed them at the ankles, the loosened dirt from his shoes landing millimeters from the Supreme King’s map. Simple markers of death, the Xs had spread across it in sweeping arcs, more villages drawn in as sloping lines.

Manjoume had set his expression to a well-practiced sneer.

“I never thought anything could be more boring than Satou-sensei’s lectures, but, congratulations, this castle of yours has taken first place,” he said, lolling his head back. “Aren’t evil overlords supposed to have, like, actual personalities? You haven’t even given me a monologue yet.”

Nothing. Another entry was added to the book.

This wall needed to fall, even if Manjoume had to bloody his hands against it, splitting precious bones until they arched up and punctured his skin. He continued his act, that of an arrogant, rich kid thoughtlessly provoking a tyrant, ignoring the subtle rattles of the shadows that reached across the table. Their faded edges brushed his exposed ankles, rounding the curve of bone.

“Maybe you’re the paranoid type. What, you don’t trust your generals or advisors or whatever to do this shit for you?” Manjoume drawled, and, after a pause, he swiped the nearest book, a thin volume of neat columns. A crooked shadow turned, and, with perfect control, the Supreme King lifted Judai’s head, the gaze blank. An empty space, unfilled by emotion. Dangling the book by a page, the weight not enough to pull it loose, Manjoume continued. “Then again, none of the guards here seem particularly bright. Does that problem extend up to your higher rank? Ah, what a shame… I can relate, you know. Back home, I’m surrounded by morons.”

The slightest movement of the paper, just beginning to pull away from the spine, and the Supreme King spoke. “Damage will result in your punishment.”

“Ah, don’t get excited. I’m not going to ruin your precious homework,” Manjoume answered, and those eyes narrowed when he let go of the notebook. It hit the table and then slipped over the edge, onto the floor. “Fucking sadist. You’d enjoy that, wouldn’t you?”

No reaction, but the colour had changed, darker where iris met pupil. The focus was tangible, curls of shadow drawing in.

Manjoume needed a duel. Just one, but asking for it wouldn’t work.

Not yet.

“Most prisoners have a better sense of self-preservation.” The Supreme King had stopped writing. A chance flickered, a speck of something else parting that gold before it was consumed again, and Manjoume went for it, his next move out in the open, like a fragile piece sliding over a game board.

"If your goal is to observe me and the reactions of your, ah, 'vessel,'” he began, “then it's in my best interest to be as provoking as possible, otherwise you'll mistakenly conclude that you've seen every possible reaction and kill me off. So, to put it simply, self-preservation _is_ my top priority. Guess you’re just too stupid to notice that.”

"By that reasoning, keeping you alive is in my best interest as well." An even statement, and then the Supreme King moved the components of his mask into a smirk that darkened the smooth contours of Judai’s face. It curved higher, and every new, horrific angle was _wrong_. "Such sophistry is unnecessary, Manjoume Jun. Simply pleading for your life would be more direct, as well as more entertaining."

Failure was not an option, no matter how that expression churned his insides. Parted lips showed Judai’s canines. Sun-made freckles were close to that deep gold.

"That's not my style. You should know that already, if you _really_ are in control of Judai."

A chuckle, and the smirk widened, a sign that would’ve made others back down, rattled by the sight of it. Rough-edged bangs cast barbed shadows. "You have faith in your relationship as rivals, despite the fact that you've never won against him, nor have you accomplished anything comparable to what he has. Yuki Judai has defeated the three sacred beasts, become the ultimate alchemist, and pushed back the Light of Destruction. Tell me, why would he ever extend the same respect to you?"

Leaping across the table and punching the Supreme King would _probably_ cut the conversation short, and so Manjoume just grit his teeth, biting down on nothing. An insult like that shouldn’t have come from Judai’s mouth, and Manjoume Thunder shouldn’t be addressed that way, not by _anyone_. 

"Look,” he began, “say whatever you want about me and Judai, but I'm not just fighting for my own sake. I shouldn't have to repeat myself, or maybe you really are forgetful.”

"Right, your allies. Not all of them were sealed within the Infernal Canon, but the fact remains that they too have perished.” Judai’s bangs shifted, his chin propped against one hand. A slow blink. "I can have the bodies retrieved, for your examination,” the Supreme King stated. “Not all of my soldiers dispose of rebels with duel disks.”

"Brron's forces used a body double of Johan to lure Judai into their trap. I'd see right through that trick.”

"They are dead, and yet you fight for their sake. How delusional." 

" _I_ was dead, and yet I'm here right now. What's delusional about using the only credible evidence I have?"

"It's delusional to assume the same fate has extended to your fallen allies. The ink has bled from only one page of the Infernal Canon. However, I suppose you would ignore that proof and cling to the false notion that, even if they had escaped, your allies would survive for even one day against my forces,” the Supreme King observed, and maybe spots had gathered in Manjoume’s vision, the strain of _this_ growing heavier with every second he was made to watch Judai be used, a puppet jerked by the pull of its strings. Again, stronger this time, he hoped that Judai would forget this, _all_ of it. A blank slate, as if his muscles had never contorted into that terrible smirk, as if he had never been made to say those sickening things. "You're curious about how you were revived."

"Who wouldn't be? Don't say that like it means anything."

The reply had been too defensive, and Manjoume bit back a curse, every movement watched with bare interest, that dizzying focus stronger than before.

"The card for the Infernal Canon has a faulty design, as the first page could never contain the energy of the emotion inscribed on it. This is the cause of your revival, and you were found one hour's march from this castle's gates, alone and unconscious. You had no deck. I recognized who you were and acknowledged your potential as a tool." A pause, broken by that same montone, that same perfect control. "Had I not been with the division, the soldiers would have tried you as a suspected rebel and then disposed of your body."

"...Okay? You want me to act grateful for that?" No response, and Manjoume scrambled for his next move, almost forgotten in the sudden haze. If he fucked up- "So, _this_ is your grand plan? Just wait around until you, what, get over some lingering urge to steal my fried shrimp and make stupid comments about my hair?"

The references to Duel Academia were badly concealed, like rations being passed to a prisoner under a too-thin cloth, their outlines visible to the waiting guard, and the Supreme King cocked Judai’s head to the side, a gesture that seemed too human, too _normal_. It stopped his next sentence in his throat.

None of this was normal. They weren’t home yet. Johan hadn’t been saved yet, and the Supreme King flashed teeth as he spoke, ending the silence.

"Your utility is running out, Manjoume Jun. For our last two sessions, I've questioned if it's necessary for you to be alive to isolate the reactions that weaken my vessel. The sight of your dead body could be provoking enough, as could ending your life with these hands."

Another thing to be boxed away and shoved to the side. Later. Deal with it _later_ , because the Supreme King had given him another chance, and he needed to grasp it. His composure was a lie. The scowl he wore could break open into a scream.

"You don't get it, do you? Judai and I are rivals, maybe even _friends_ if he stops being such an asshole,” Manjoume said, feigning every inflection, the inside of his head a mess. A tortuous static wailed, but- "Everything about us, about how he _thinks_ about us, depends on our interactions. So, you're not going to identify all those 'reactions' unless you stop being such a fucking coward and duel me."

In this dimension, duels determined life and death, and a victory could banish that spirit’s control, driving the evil out. Now, isolated in this high tower, it forced Judai’s face into another sharp-angled smirk.

"Ah, I see. You’re eager for the end."

"Just try to defeat me. I dare you.”

“You don’t have your cards,” the Supreme King stated, a fact that correlated with his supposed ‘rescue story,’ if any part of _that_ was even true. 

“So? I’m Manjoume Thunder. I can win under any condition.”

Motionless, the Supreme King considered the proposition. Judai would have drummed his fingers on the table, maybe even cracked a joke to distract from how serious he was, a deflection that worked against Manjoume even when he recognized it. For once, water did not dampen Judai’s bangs, and the robe’s heavy collar pushed away from his skin when he breathed out, his collarbone traced by eager shadows. 

And then that intangible leash was yanked on, bringing Squinty through the double-doors at the far end of the room, the guard almost vibrating with the need to appear useful. Or maybe it was nervousness. Maybe a wrong move, even from a loyal subject, could end in death.

"Bring a game for two players."

"My lord, why would you-?" A single look, and the guard’s attention changed, the sword in its right hand gripped tighter. The hilt creaked. “I-I understand. I will return as soon as I...have the object.”

Without Squinty, the room seemed smaller again, as if every centimeter of distance between them had been cut in half, the trailing shadows compressing the space around them. Manjoume understood what was happening -- the king’s pieces encircling his, boxing him in -- but he said it anyways, grimacing at the sound of his own voice: strained, rasping.

"This is your idea of a compromise? A way of testing me without accidentally killing me?"

Raw power pulsed behind the gold, and one sleeve rolled down Judai’s arm when the Supreme King leaned back. “If you really are so interesting, it would be a waste to end your life now. That was the argument you gave earlier. A duel would end in your death, and therefore it would be pointless as a test of your future potential. Of course, if you’re a disappointment, then I won’t waste my time any further.”

Damn it.

 _Damn_ it, and Manjoume ground down on his back teeth. The hour of his death could be decided here, in just _minutes_ , and the Supreme King’s stare landed on his forehead, on the scar half-hidden by his long bangs.

Time was running out, granule by granule.

Second by second.

\---

_“Hey, if something terrible ever happens to Judai, we should-”_

\---

_Watching the dry grass scatter, he knew that even if he had a zero-percent chance, he wanted to move out from his rival’s shadow. He wanted to win, just once, and after that-_

_He wanted to confess, even if it changed nothing, the words just dead scraps like the yellowed grass that remained in his palm, some blades caught in the deeper creases._

_One day. Eventually._

\---

_Some things could not be left unfinished._

\---

After Squinty placed a stained board on the table -- the woven bag in the middle tipping from how abruptly he pulled away -- the Supreme King slowly blinked and then gave a straightforward order, his eyes locked on the slender tiles that had spilled out.

“Explain the rules.”

It could’ve been a ruse, but Manjoume had no recourse even if it was. Around him, the world was turning too fast, Squinty’s explanation drowned out by the pounding inside his head, oscillating with each hurried breath, but he caught the important parts. He thought of Asuka, starlight in her hair, when Squinty shook the bag, the remaining contents scattering across the simple board, divided into a five-by-five grid.

Instead of betting chips, there were exactly fifty teeth, twenty-five for each player. One that Squinty shoved to his side had some gum attached, bright pink. Maybe the Supreme King had an over-enthusiastic dentist lurking around the castle. Still, gross.

Very gross.

Predictably, the game revolved around subterfuge, the object being to claim the opponent’s teeth through aggressive bets, their outcomes based on the movements of the tiles on the board. Sorted by colour, the tiles had slight variations, some able to move further than others. For a bet to be considered valid, it had to reference the number of remaining tiles, such as, “By the end of the tenth turn, I will have more tiles than the other player.” With a curling feeling, like a hook pushing up through his ribcage, Manjoume realized what that meant: he could bet against himself, resigning a failure on the board to a victory off of it.

By his elbow, the meager pile glittered, enamel white and yellow bright under the torch lights. He memorized every special condition Squinty grumbled out obediently, the game’s length unpredictable, and the Supreme King eventually dismissed the guard. 

Twenty-five teeth. A twenty-five space grid, the grain from the wood thick, and its texture passed under Manjoume’s thumbs. Their tiles were identical. 

“Your death made him scream the loudest,” the Supreme King said, like those words were simple, like the meaning they carried would be easy to take in. But it wasn’t, and Manjoume kept his mouth shut, his stare trained on the board. “Do you find that flattering, perhaps?”

Apparently trash talk was taken far more seriously in this dimension, and, with his analysis complete, Manjoume selected his first tile, the second dependant on what the king’s own choice would be. His bet would be too tempting to brush off, which was the point of it. Then again, it was _also_ so bold that the Ojamas might have fainted on principle. Sho would have shaken him, and Fubuki-

Focus.

“Are you suggesting that a single defeat here will end with my death?” No answer. Manjoume tried again. “Come on, what kind of tyrant skips the opportunity to taunt his prisoner?”

That chilling smirk returned, every millimeter of it a fucking disgrace. It spread as if Manjoume had already lost.

The Supreme King took the bet, and Manjoume played the first tile.

A mistake after another mistake, but he only understand that when the turn passed to the Supreme King, the frenzied gold churning in new patterns, like towering waves gathering before they rammed against the shoreline, sweeping over everything in their path. 

\---

Manjoume lost, badly. 

But then the board was reset, Judai’s fingers in crooked shapes as they isolated the tiles and separated them. Manjoume again had a neat pile of twenty-five teeth, that bit of pink gum still there. 

He wanted to throw up.

“S-So, guess I...didn’t fail your little test,” he heard himself say, every syllable uneasy, trembling as it shifted to the next one. He could die here. He could _die_ here, and- “Whatever. This game, it doesn’t compare to Duel Monsters at all. You’re...not much of a tactician, since my potential isn’t…”

It had been a pathetic display, the Supreme King unchanged as the turns had moved between them. Each messy slide of a tile had been wrong. The positions had only trapped him, every charge into the Supreme King’s line cutting back into him, like a master redirecting the clumsy strike of an amateur. 

Judai’s features were schooled into impassiveness, the same kind that had raked over the fairy creatures as they were made to kill each other. Siblings, chained by cruelty, and made to feel only grief. 

Fuck.

Think. _Think_. 

“Take the first move,” the Supreme King ordered with a final flick of Judai’s wrist, and when Manjoume met his stare, a smirk showed and then widened, twisting Judai’s face without resistance, without a flicker of _anything_ else. 

To answer, he picked his first tile, but the bet had to precede its movement. Moths traced lazy circles by the chandelier overhead, an ugly contraption of rope, metal, and dangling lamps. Simple, with pure wings of white, those creatures continued their loose motions, drawn in by the flickers of orange-red. Possible strategies emerged, and he sorted through them. He became caught in their contradictions, and maybe he would lose just like this, defeated by the phantom opponent inside his head. Two moves forward, and there would be an easy counter. One move forward, and the Supreme King, employing the same feint, could take out his front line.

“At the end of my fifth turn,” he heard himself say, his interrogator’s shadow crossing his hand, reaching up to the mottled bruise, “I will have exactly two fewer pieces than my opponent.”

“‘Exactly’?” The word changed the angle of that smirk, high enough that Judai’s eyes narrowed, dark eyelashes piercing the gold that churned even faster below. “I bet against that.”

“How many pieces?”

Unflinching, the answer came. “Twenty-five.”

“I match that,” Manjoume said, and he had to pause then, focusing on the tile, a simple red cross on its top. Bold declarations suited Manjoume Thunder. He reminded himself of that, alone in this endless storm.

\---

But-

\---

But he _had_ it. 

The trap had been a desperate thing, and yet it had started to close, the mechanism activated. Underneath the simple hunks of wood, he had made the perfect machine, and the Supreme King, silent as the seconds ticked by, seemed unaware, picking tiles as if by random. There was no counter from his opponent. 

At least, there hadn’t been until the end of Manjoume’s fourth turn, and the one tile that the Supreme King slid forward destroyed that structure, the pieces of it suddenly useless and catching on nothing, fucking _nothing_. His fist hit the table, and, cursing, he shot to his feet, his hands in his hair and pulling hard. 

“Fuck. _Fuck_ , I almost…” A rattling breath, and Manjoume whirled around. “Bastard, you’re doing this on purpose. W-What kind of duelist _are_ you?”

“We aren’t dueling,” the Supreme King stated, and although Manjoume had at least ten good reasons _not_ to close the distance and strangle the tyrant, he found himself halfway there in the blink of an eye, his remaining self-control _barely_ enough to put his hands back down. He clawed them in his coat. 

“I almost had you. If you weren’t such a-”

And then it happened.

Maybe it was because he had stepped closer, close enough to count the stitches on the crest over Judai’s heart and to breath in the strange, cloying scent of wild herbs that followed him now, underlain by something metallic, grating like a chemical aftertaste. Maybe it was because, for once, Manjoume was not bleeding everywhere or picking at the red-black stains pooling on the front of his shirt, frequent from Squinty’s cheap shots to his nose. Most of the cuts had closed up, and, even though none of this was normal, not even fucking _close_ , he might have looked the part. A trick of the light could’ve disguised the ugly changes to his face, visible in the water’s reflection that, shuddering, he had destroyed by punching at it, the ripples growing smaller and smaller as they had continued out. He had watched them shrink, aware of the maze of dark circles growing under his own wild, grey eyes, the bones around them rising up.

Something about that moment, himself standing and _raging_ in front of the Supreme King, must have been familiar enough to pull on an old gesture of Judai’s, the kind inseparable from his bones, muscles, and blood. It made the Supreme King’s cold expression drop, and, frozen in place, Manjoume saw those eyes, searing with those overlapping rings of gold, flicker and then drop down to his mouth, a beat passing before they moved away. 

With his next breath, he stepped back, but the Supreme King was already rising from his chair, anything gentle about that face -- owing to that faint, aching shadow of Yuki Judai -- gone again, buried and submerged and replaced with pure fascination, a focus that would’ve stunned a weak-willed person and made them break open. But Manjoume, he couldn’t be weak, not _now_.

He put more distance between them. His chair clattered against the stone, and the Supreme King moved around it, Judai’s head tilted so far to the side. 

“Stay away from me.”

“Why would I do that?” was the response from the Supreme King, trailing off into a low chuckle that stirred his blood, black spots exploding in his vision. Warning signs, on top of warning signs, and then Manjoume’s back hit the wall.

“What? Do you mess with all of your victims this way?” Forced, his laughter did nothing, and less than a meter remained, Judai’s feet bare. The shadows ran in dark patches. They gathered in the air. “How disgusting. Power-hungry types are all the same, and I-”

Cold.

Judai’s fingers were cold, and they were on his throat, the pressure light as they brushed just below his chin. He felt it when they tensed into rigid shapes, brushing harder against that sliver of skin above his collar, and he wanted it to stop: suddenly, desperately. With the slightest motion, Judai’s bangs were on his face, the distance between them narrowing and _narrowing_ , like a magnetic pull was forcing those remaining millimeters to half and then quarter and then disappear, the Supreme King’s smirk dragging higher and becoming monstrous. 

Their noses brushed. A familiar hand was on his jawline.

“It’s so strange,” the Supreme King said, the unflinching gold boring into him, exposing everything. When he shuddered, those fingers tightened their grip. A warning, the kind that could end in broken bones, or in everything turning dark, his end determined. “Why did this body want to move closer to you?”

“Stop it. I don’t-”

Another chuckle, and Manjoume, hissing through clenched teeth, watched as the Supreme King moved in, more of Judai’s hair parting on his forehead, and- And this had to stop. This, the start of a kiss, _had_ to-

“The pull of that latent desire, it was so strong.”

“S-Stop it.”

The Supreme King’s voice dropped, and the deadpan tone was gone, every word alive with that cruel amusement. It burned through the gold, and it took in every flinch, every flicker of resistance. It wore them down. “Do you have any idea how much Yuki Judai hates this?”

-and then the Supreme King was walking away, Judai's hands off him and disappearing into the dangling sleeves of that dark robe, the next flick of Judai's head almost careless. The tension of that moment had snapped, and, boneless, Manjoume had sagged against the wall, his brain stuck on processing those words from the Supreme King, every inflection like a cipher that rotated madly, the meaning hidden away. If Judai had watched that, then-

Of course, the Supreme King could be lying, like he had about Asuka and the others. But, betting on the slight chance that he _wasn't_ , then Judai's conscience could really be there, thrashing below the surface, and Manjoume had to say something. He pushed himself away from the wall, aware of the image he wore now -- a nervous, bone-thin wreck, that scar marking him as a prisoner here. The distorted reflection had stunned him, like a hit to the head, but-

But fixating on himself _now_ was so pointless. Judai was there. 

Judai _had_ to be there, and, staggering forward, he began to speak. He did not speak to the Supreme King, his eyes locked on something past the line of Judai's profile, as if he could pierce through the shadows that swarmed in broken arcs. 

"Judai, we can deal with this when we're home again. In case you've forgotten, I know what it's like to be brainwashed. I did something unforgivable when I dueled Tenjouin-kun. I hurt her, but not only her. I…" Dizzy, he stepped back, but he never blinked. He never looked away. "Judai, you're the most aggravating person I've ever met, but I’m still your rival. I won’t run away, and that hasn't changed just because this fucker decided to mess with my head." Flickering, the Supreme King's eyes narrowed, but Manjoume continued. "Judai, don't back down because of this. Don't doubt yourself. That behaviour would be unacceptable from the person I’ve chosen, and-"

An intangible pull, and the guards was summoned, Squinty a towering mass of crude armor and tense muscle in the doorway, and each approaching step fell like a hammer. This time, Manjoume let himself go limp under that demon’s grip, since, well, he should _probably_ spare Judai the sight of himself being smashed to pieces yet-again. It would only hurt them both, and the Supreme King watched him leave under a heavy silence, a still figure under a thin shaft of moonlight. 

\---

The usual routine, the draconic pair splitting off before the dungeon, this time stopping just outside the door, which left Squinty and Scales with the dubious honour of locking Manjoume into his cell. And then, darkness, and the rapid drip-drip-drip of that stuff from the ceiling. 

Here, Judai couldn't see him, and so Manjoume punched the wall, the pain branching up his arm and flicking some switch inside his head, the emotions coming out and making everything _worse_ , fucking _horrible_. His next hit glanced off the stone, and he crumpled to his knees. The isolation pressed in.

Judai had to be losing it, because-

\---

_Out of nowhere, Judai grabbed his arm, and Manjoume dropped the cards he had been sorting, most falling to the floor of their dorm room in a messy pile. Sho was out on cleaning duty, and Manjoume had been about to make some stupid joke about room service. He should have yelled and ripped his arm away from the chronically bored slash whiny hero-duelist, but Judai was serious, and he was looking at no one else. His fingers were warm._

_"I have to say it," Judai began, and interrupting him was impossible. "Manjoume, your brothers are jerks, and they don't deserve to be related to you."_

_They were students sitting in a leaky dormitory, Pharaoh's fur clinging to every chipped and scratched surface, and yet Yuki Judai, the scruffiest and messiest of them all, had just insulted two of the world's most powerful billionaires without flinching. If anything, he seemed even more confident than before. His features were soft, relaxed. None of this was a joke._

_"You...didn't have to say that."_

_Slowly, Judai pulled away, and he then sat on the bottom bunk, absently pulling at a crease in the sheets. "Well, you can't read my mind, so I'm not sure how you'd know what I was thinking otherwise."_

_"That duel was weeks ago. I...don't get why you're bringing it up now."_

_A shrug, and a smile spread next, warm like that touch to his arm, pressing in like sunlight. "Who knows. But, hey, if those two ever show up again, my heroes could teach them a lesson or two. Just give me the signal, Thunder."_

\---

_"Stop moving it!" Manjoume snapped, and then he crouched down, Judai's wide-eyed stare on the small bird cradled in his hands, one of its wings at a right angle after the second joint. The yellow-feathered chest rose and fell quickly._

_The nurse’s office could probably handle it, and after they had passed the Ra Yellow buildings, Manjoume took to dragging Judai by the sleeve._

_Inside the main hallway, he dropped it, and the head nurse, Ayukawa Emi, put down her clipboard when they entered her office, clinical white with no clutter. Before he could say anything, she turned and emptied the nearest file box. “Manjoume-kun, can you bring me a blanket from that cupboard? The smaller size should work.”_

_“Uh… Sure.”_

_With a sigh, she rose from her office chair, her earrings swinging with a sharp click. “Now, Judai-kun, you came to the right place, but remember to cover yourself before touching a wild animal, especially one that’s been injured. Safety comes first, okay?”_

_Judai nodded, and, still with those too-wide eyes, he watched as she carefully transferred the injured bird to the blanket-lined box, her gloves hands adjusting around the broken wing. Of course, her lecture hadn’t stopped there, and after another twenty minutes, Manjoume found himself outside one wing of the Obelisk Blue dormitory and standing next to an eerily quiet Yuki Judai, a pamphlet about animal safety sticking out of his jacket. A realization dawned on him._

_“Come on, loser. The last thing I need is detention because of_ you _.”_

_“...What?”_

_“Our class started thirty minutes ago. Our class, as in the class shared by you and me. Me and you.” When Judai just blinked at him, Manjoume exploded. “A-Are you even paying attention?! You can be such a-”_

_“That jacket really does suit you.”_

_More than anyone else, Judai had the uncanny ability to take random words, shove them into a sentence, and crash Manjoume’s brain with the subtlety of a brick through a window. It was not convenient, and he did_ not _appreciate it, especially since they were now thirty-one minutes late. Because strangling Judai and then throwing his body into the ocean would probably get him expelled, Manjoume settled on his second option instead, which was to stand in place and yell a lot. “If your goal is to distract me before our next duel, then I’ve got-”_

_“Duel?” Judai laughed, and he laced his fingers behind his head. “Ah, I wasn’t thinking about dueling. Surprising, right?” Another laugh, and he continued with his chin tilted back, the sky overhead clear. “You had the Obelisk Blue uniform when we started here at Duel Academia. I mean, I guess it’s supposed to show off how skilled and elite someone is, but… The design’s kind of overrated, don’t you think?”_

_“...Yeah. I guess.”_

_“You should say it like you mean it,” Judai chided, and when their eyes met, Judai’s crinkled at the corners. “Although, maybe I should get a cool jacket too. I can’t have my rival getting ahead of me, so-”_

_They arrived to the lecture hall forty-five minutes late, Sho immediately accusing him of ‘kidnapping’ his ‘Aniki’, which was bullshit, and Manjoume took a seat at the back of the room, ignoring the cheery wave Judai threw in his direction. They had argued about pointless things, the volume waking up the Ojamas and making everything even_ louder _than it needed to be. Winged Kuriboh had spun in dizzying circles, the chirps like birdsong._

_It had been fun, and, sighing to himself, Manjoume thunked his head against the desk._

\---

-because he was the exact _opposite_ of the monster that wore his skin, and, holding onto that thought, Manjoume tried to focus again, even if it seemed so futile, like trying to keep the tide from going out with only his hands, with only him and him alone. The water just kept rushing away.

\---

_“Hey, if something ever happens to-”_

\---


	5. Hunted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter is the heaviest in terms of gore/death/violence. 
> 
> Note: Some of the dialogue here is lifted from season 1, episode 26.
> 
> Knight/Knave/Spy: This is a famous kind of logic puzzle. I...figured Misawa would be into something like that. The basic premise is that all three characters look identical but have different behaviours: knights tell the truth, knaves tell a lie, and spies give random answers.

\---

When the guards finally came, it was clear that the Supreme King had a different plan for him, the first clue being that Scales, his snout wrinkling with each hiss-like chuckle, the nostrils flaring out, seemed excited. That ever-present fatigue caused Manjoume to fuck up his mental map by the tenth turn through the new set of corridors, the castle of the Supreme King an intersecting, expanding maze of stone, mud, metal, bone, and gore, and, a hulking presence at his side, Squinty exhaled slowly. A white froth dripped from beneath the bared fangs. 

“Huh. This one’s finally learned when to shut up,” Scales observed with a pointed jab at Manjoume’s back, and he couldn’t suppress the wince fast enough -- blinking back spots of black and smears of grey-red, the hard textures colliding in a dizzying spiral. Of the two front guards, Scales had the rougher armor, the metal dulled, cracked, and bowed by the impact of past blows. “Shame we didn’t bet on that, Oxurnade. Your kind is too stingy…”

“Quiet. Fraternization in front of a captive is forbidden,” Squinty snapped back, and Scales turned away with a low grumble, both sets of arms crossed over his wide torso.

“What a fucking pet…”

“Royal Guard Nxandi, would you care to repeat that?”

“Nah, I think you heard me already,” Scales said, and the grip on Manjoume’s bicep tightened. Squinty’s black lips rolled back even further. “Come on, use your head. You  _ really  _ think this half-starved human’s going to pull a fast one on us? I’d pay to see him try it.”

“Orders are orders. They are not to be questioned.”

With a snort, Scales replied, “With that attitude, you’re going to be hauling around meatsacks until your joints wear out, then there’s nothing left but the pits for you.”

“Quiet, or I’ll rip your throat out.”

Another turn, and then the noises in the distance sharpened, a mixture of screeches, wails, and cheers, all underlain by the boom of stamping feet. Torchlight spilled over the uneven walls, lacerated by sharp-edged shadows, and demons were pouring in around them, a herd of twisted, frantic forms. The energy spiraled, growing with every new sound and raised weapon, the bodies packed tightly against bodies, and Manjoume’s ring of guards took to slashing at those who strayed too close, Squinty’s split pupils slivers of black within a cruel red. Howls of pain were met with rancorous laughter. Ahead, a vast archway led into an even greater space, infernos raging within their braziers.

The sight that unfolded ahead came in as fragments, as details partitioned from the incomprehensible whole. Tables were littered with carcasses, the white bones exposed. Gambling pieces were spread between gloved hands, every movement watched with the abandon only greed could cause, and he watched an ogre swerve and ram a closed fist into the side of an imp’s face, shattering it with a cacophony of ruined bone and sending waves of bloodied spit across the game board. An unceasing, unending stream, the crowd drowned out the sight of the imp’s body, limp where it had fallen, the neck at an impossible angle. Goblets spilled when the chants continued. Connective tissues pulled and snapped as flesh was ripped away by clenched teeth, the madness of the feast stoked higher and higher, and Manjoume, unblinking, let the guards take him to a high platform positioned to the side of the only emptied space, wide like an arena and bracketed by two ornate stands of carved stone.

“Am...I going to duel him?” Manjoume heard himself say, and he finally had to look away. But the images stayed, wreathed with the mad burn of the orange flames. Their glow distorted his thoughts, already set to sorting through all possible strategies, all so thin and useless. 

“You’d need cards to do that,” Scales said, the mockery thick and putrid. “Just shut up and watch the show.”

“Not like I have a fucking choice,” Manjoume mumbled, and the punch was a warning, the force of it a fraction of its full potential, but he still fell with it, choking and gasping while metallic blood welled up and spilled over. New stains were added to his shirt, and before he could lift his head, he went numb from the fall of a heavy shadow, from a presence that made the guards fade into nothingness, their very bodies overlain and then taken in by the darkness encircling the Supreme King. 

The last time they were together, with only the thinnest distance remaining, pressurized like the moment before a storm crashed down, Judai’s chapped lips had almost brushed his own, and, now, Manjoume could have bashed his head against the stone until all he saw was red, until that memory was driven out and made to die. But instead he rammed his palms against unforgiving stone and then rose to his full height, and there was the steady drip-drip-drip of blood from his mouth, his bottom lip torn open. The drops gathered under the Supreme King’s shadow.

The armor’s spikes obscured the person underneath. The jagged helmet and collar left nothing revealed except for Judai’s face, blank and absolute like the cleaned skull of a wild bird, its contours repulsive. What remained was a menacing aura, thick with the potential for violence, and Manjoume knew that he flinched when Judai’s head angled closer, the gold whirling. Every angle of that expression was wrong, that of a corpse tethered in place while a beast peered through the dead face, now a villain’s mask. Except-

Except Judai was  _ not  _ dead, and, seized by that truth, Manjoume stopped himself from moving away when the Supreme King’s outstretched hand grazed the tip of his raised chin. From the blood pooling inside his mouth, more had spilled over, and he held still under the cold touch of one metal-coated finger -- straining with the effort of it, unwilling to break from just  _ this _ .

Parting, the shadows let other colours back in, diluting that sharp, damning gold with surrounding flickers of green, blue, and purple, the orange dancing on the stone walls beating with the intensity of a trapped moth’s wings.

When the Supreme King licked the blood off his finger, just a flash of Judai’s tongue and a set of white teeth, Manjoume bit down on a scream. His heart beat with that same desperate, futile intensity, and then, and  _ only  _ then, did the Supreme King’s indulgent smirk spread, the first contortions showing those teeth again.

“Your desire to protect Yuki Judai will come to nothing. He lost himself the moment Wicked Canon activated, and the darkness will consume the ashes that remain.”

“W-Whatever. I’ll come to my own conclusions, if you don’t mind,” Manjoume snarled, and the smirk went higher, eager shadows writhing on the floor. Around them was a dense silence, maybe one Manjoume had imagined to cancel out the demons’ frenzy. It didn’t fucking matter.

That shadow was over him still. 

“Your defiance cannot last,” the Supreme King stated, bloodless. “The fear shows through your eyes. It always has.”

“You-”

“Kill the captive if he looks away from the duel,” was the order, given to Squinty and received with a curt nod, and then the Supreme King was gone, the shadows reforming at one end of the arena.

“Huh. Even you should be able to do that,” Scales commented, slapping a rough hand onto Manjoume’s shoulder. “There ain't a show that can top our ruler when he comes out and duels. I mean, even the legendary warriors of-”

“This is your final warning,” Squinty hissed, low and scathing.

Scales stepped back, but the pressure remained, obvious like the scratches crossed over each of their weapons. At the first spin of the Supreme King’s duel disk, the crowd abandoned their own games, the pieces dropped and left to skitter under the tables, and there was a chaotic run to the arena’s side, the smaller monsters trampled, clawing for purchase underneath a careless, ravenous mob. When the duel disk clicked into place, the shadows clinging to the Supreme King shifted, pouring down over the articulated plate armor like dark water.

He raised his head, the next order left unspoken. 

Shoved out in the open by two handlers was a human, a young girl with wild blonde hair and a lattice of scars crossing her bare, muscular arms, her leather tunic embossed with bronzed symbols. The resemblance to Tania, partners with Misawa, was uncanny, down to the cocky way she threw her duel disk out, the metal components sliding and clicking with each other. The scraps of conversation around him revealed how she had scaled the castle’s outer walls and demanded a duel with its ruler, and the conclusion had already been determined by the Supreme King’s followers, all with the same bloodlust writhing behind their avid stares.

Rising above weapons gleaming with dried rot, Inferno Wing led the charge with outstretched wings and a piercing laugh, taking a visible pleasure in each scream and fall. The plays from the Supreme King were precise, stripped of mercy, and the screams just continued, the human duelist’s own going ragged towards the end. 

Manjoume watched as her front line was dismantled, piece by tortuous piece, and the final attack took with it her life, reduced to just a burst of golden sparks and an echo that could not last under the sudden roar of the crowd. Another trespasser filled her empty space, and the cards fell again, pieces leading towards an end so final that it seemed predetermined, even though Manjoume didn’t believe in destiny. He couldn’t believe in anything that justified the slaughter he was forced to wait through, his hands clenched around nothing, his heart beating in time with the frantic wingbeats of something that had already sensed its death.

And, above it all, was the Supreme King, the power he wielded undeniable here in this pinnacle of depravity, of chaos. The line of Judai’s profile never changed, impassive even when the second duelist vanished to thunderous applause, and Manjoume had dueled Judai hundreds of times, maybe even thousands, searching for a chance at victory. Sometimes he saw it, darting away like a firefly and escaping his desperate grasps at it, leaving him with loss after loss.

But that fragile chance wasn't here now, and when the sparks faded into nothingness, the Supreme King’s kaleidoscope stare landed on him.

The blood had dried over his cracked lip. The taste of it filled his mouth.

\---

_ “Sit straight!” Chosaku barked, and, young and afraid, Manjoume did not move at first. When his older brother rounded the table, he jumped and snapped his shoulders into a tense line. In front of him were empty plates and glasses, the setting for a grand celebration. “Use your head, Jun. What if our father saw you slouching like that?” _

_ Flowers dripped over the white cloth, almost pouring out from their overfilled vases. “I-I’m sorry,” he said, bowing his head.  _

_ He wanted to go outside. _

_ Precious beyond words, creased cards were hidden in his pockets. _

\---

_ “-come on, don’t you know who I  _ am _?” Manjoume sneered at the boy picking himself off the pavement, flanked by two other classmates in matching uniforms. A sign of his perfect grades, his own uniform had another crest below the boarding school’s insignia, hand stitched with red thread. Behind him were the twin sons of a technology magnate, and both were athletic enough that his side wouldn’t lose if this escalated to an actual fight. Plus, suspension was an idle threat against people like them. _

_ It wasn’t for the heaving idiot across from him -- Kondo Daichi, wearing sneakers split at the heels and grabbing at his outdated cellphone, which had fallen when the older boy had tripped over Manjoume’s foot. _

_ Served him right. _

_ “D-Don’t start with him, Kondo-kun. H-His family is way above your level, and if word gets out that you tried to fight him, t-then…” _

_ “Arrogant jerk,” Kondo muttered, but he stepped back. His knuckles were raised. “Talk about my friends like that again, and I’ll smash your face in. That’s your only warning.” _

_ “Please, am I supposed to be  _ scared _?” Laughter sounded behind him, and Manjoume’s sneer deepened, cruel at the edges. “I can do whatever I want. Never forget that, you lowlife.” _

_ But that had been a lie. _

_ Such a stupid lie. _

\---

_ That summer, and he should’ve had three assignments left unfinished in his room, on the top floor of the mansion’s left wing. Clasping an empty glass, Shouji had leaned over him earlier, the sardonic words slurred together. “Just this one time, I’ll have somebody take care of that math stuff, so try to look like you’re having fun.” _

_ It was his father’s birthday, and the event hall had a glass roof, a great cobweb of metal beams and green shards mixed with vast, translucent panels, showing the night sky. Most of the kids his age attended the same boarding school or were into Duel Monsters, and after he confirmed that Shouji had settled by the bar, surrounded by other men in suits and loosened ties, he started up with some story about a local tournament. The praise came naturally. _

_ The conversation stopped when Chosaku signalled for him, and then the grey suit he wore felt too tight, every obedient step bringing him across the marble-tiled floor, the white veins crossing a deep black.  _

_ “What are you doing?” was what Chosaku opened with after they had moved away, Manjoume bracketed on the other side by a winding metal sculpture, the grooves like those of an industrial cable. If they were alone, Chosaku would have hit him. “Do you realize who's on the guest list for this party?” _

_ “A...lot of people,” he said, and when Chosaku’s face twisted, he quickly added, “Sorry, Nii-san. I meant to say that all of our father’s closest relations are here tonight, plus members from many important families. I, uh, was just talking to-” _

_ “That’s irrelevant,” Chosaku answered, the tone clipped. “The only person you  _ should  _ be talking to is over there, by the fountain.” _

_ In a thin, white dress, Takahara Ayumi watched the ripples of the water, her black hair plaited and set with a silver pin. Her family controlled distribution for meat and produce, their companies’ revenues in the billions, and at events like this, Shouji had always made him introduce himself to the heiress, every interaction stilted and awkward. _

_ “This is a zero-sum game,” Chosaku said next, patting him on the shoulder. He kept still. His insides had frozen. “Stop whining about how you ‘don’t have anything in common’ and get yourself together. For once, can you manage to just  _ do  _ as your told?” _

_ “I-” _

_ “Jun, did you really think that Shouji hired those tutors just so you could slack off? Being in our family means working for the family, so put some fucking effort in before I-” _

_ The conversation was a disaster, every word from himself false and cracked, and she had to know, her expression too controlled for anything else. And, later, after the event hall was crossed only by staff clearing away the mess, Chosaku had turned and shoved him against the wall, hard enough that, stunned, he had clutched at his ribcage. It had hurt, and no one had looked over, except Shouji, who, his hands in his pockets, had whistled and then walked away. There was the distant sound of shattering glass. _

_ All of this was a lie. _

\---

Drip, drip, drip-

\---

_ “Stop it! I’ve had enough of this. Manjoume fought with everything he had!” _

_ “Outsiders shouldn’t interfere in our family’s affairs,” Chosaku shot back, and Shouji’s grip on Manjoume’s neck loosened. The arena was around them, every second of  _ this  _ visible, and-  _

_ “If you’re family, you shouldn’t treat Manjoume that way,” Judai said, unflinching, and none of this should have been possible. The public fight. The attention. The simple,  _ stupid  _ fact that Yuki fucking Judai was standing up for him, so unnessary and pathetic. Indignation burned in his throat, and yet- _

_ “He beat you,” was what Judai said with shaking shoulders, and he, always acting like the hero of the story, hadn’t backed down. “Thunder wasn’t just dueling me… He was fighting against that pressure you two put on him, and even though he suffered, he still beat you.” _

_ That day was a mess, even in memory, but Manjoume knew that he had stood on that stage and mumbled for his brothers to leave, his eyes set on something else, anything else because the reality had been so raw and ugly. All those walls had crashed down. _

_ He could have cried. _

_ That night, he, taking the top bunk in Judai and Sho’s dorm room, had faced an unfamiliar ceiling while the waves churned outside, Sho mumbling nonsense in his sleep. Judai’s breaths were even, and hating that hero complex of his should have been easier than it was. It should’ve been just as simple as hating the too-small bed frame, the worn-out mattress, and the rounded water stains on the ceiling, visible through the nightglow of the pale curtains. The entire, pathetic excuse for a dormitory should’ve been condemned and torn down, the parts shucked off to various waste dumps and forgotten, and Manjoume stayed awake as the sun rose over the water, illuminating the low crests of the waves. Gulls cried and doved by the cliffs outside. _

_ Sho woke up first, and Manjoume shut his eyes before the creak of Sho peaking at him, the frame shaking from the slight motion. Nothing was said, and then there was the pat-pat-pat of Sho’s socked feet towards the door. It shut. _

_ Judai stayed curled up in the bottom bunk until the sounds of banging pots and pans reached their apex, the first sizzle of something being fried punctuated by the unmistakable ‘thunk’ of a body hitting the floor. Quick to jump back up, Judai whirled around. His hair was everywhere. _

_ “If you don’t get down from there, I’ll take your portion too,” Judai said with a wink, a fucking  _ wink  _ at seven am, and Manjoume seriously considered staying in the top bunk just to be spiteful. And difficult. _

_ But- _

_ “Good luck with that,” he muttered instead, and Judai dodged the swing of his legs over the edge, Winged Kuriboh giving a ‘hoot’ of surprise.  _

_ “Uh… Did...you sleep in your jacket?” _

_ “Why would  _ you  _ care?” Manjoume shot back, Judai at his heels on the walkway, and the sudden laughter from his rival confirmed  _ one  _ long-standing theory he had, which was that Yuki Judai’s laugh was the most annoying sound in the entire world, even above Ojama Yellow’s pop song melody.  _

_ Tough competition, but even  _ then  _ did Judai take first place. _

_ Urgh. _

_ “I don’t know if you’ve thought about this already,” Judai began, somehow in front and pushing the common room’s door open with his shoulder, a glint of  _ something  _ flaring behind his eyes, “but you can borrow stuff from me. I’ll even promise not to tease you too much about it, Thunder.” _

_ Manjoume’s plan of shoving Judai into the doorframe failed, since his adversary had the uncanny reflexes of a world-class ping pong champion and the uncanny luck of a comic book hero, and it was with a sense of karmic justice that Manjoume watched him choke on breakfast and sputter helplessly while Sho slammed two tiny fits against his back. Yesterday, Manjoume had lost a duel televised to thousands and finished to the applause of hundreds, and yet he caught himself grinning down at the stained table, the wood ringed from countless glasses and bowls. _

_ Damn. _

\---

_ “Hey, if something terrible ever happens to Judai-” _

\---

A scorched wasteland spread and spread outside the castle’s walls, a low fog rolling in and leaving its ghostly traces on the high hills -- smearing the dark ground layered with wilted grass and exposed roots, obscuring sudden drops and deep crags.

Not that Manjoume was planning to, had ever planned to, or  _ would _ ever plan to kidnap someone and trap them in a labyrinthian castle populated by a power-hungry tyrant, a legion of bloodthirsty demons and one particular cat-hybrid-thing with deep-seated anger issues, but if he took the whole scenario as a thought exercise, like one of Misawa’s logic puzzles taken to an eerily specific extreme, then he would have treated his fictional prisoner much differently than the Supreme King treated him.

For one thing, he wouldn’t have wasted resources -- such as the four guards, always eager to throw him against various hard surfaces -- on giving a captive the grand tour of the castle’s grounds, complete with an extended section on the holding cells. Mud and filth had clung to quivering figures, suspected rebels, and offenses were countered with swift, reckless brutality. Later, with heavy steps, the guards had dragged him through the stockades, the barracks, and the armory, the forges well-fed and alive. Molten steel sank into blades. Hammers beat down with rhythmic precision. 

Then again, if the captive had  _ no  _ chance of escaping, then the scattered information about the layout, guard shifts, and army’s operations would mean nothing at all, harmless like drops of blood against a fortified stone wall, a convenient image considering that Squinty had just slammed him against one for being, quote, ‘too slow.’

On the ramparts, curving with the structure of the vast, towering castle, he matched the beat of the guards’ steps and breathed in the cold air, different from the stagnant filth inside the castle’s lower levels but thick with dust, leaving behind a bitter aftertaste. Below, the main gate opened to a narrow walkway, armored soldiers spilling out and marching to the east, and their victories were tracked by the horizontal lines added to the Supreme King’s map. From the opposite side, the castle melded with its surrounding terrain, the ridges high and sharp like bared incisors, and above were birds, cawing out as they circled.

And it was as if any shadow could split and reform into the Supreme King’s own, the whispers of his orders seeping into the stones, into the earth itself and twisting the roots below. Distant soldiers marched because he had demanded it, and every print of their boots in the muck was a sign of that unyielding will, of the magnetic power that was drawing an entire dimension closer and closer to the brink.

When Manjoume had watched the Supreme King duel, he had seen that power course through the body of his rival, igniting strange, whirling lights behind the golden eyes, stripped and bled of all humanity. And, sure, Manjoume really,  _ really  _ didn’t want to compliment that sadist’s abilities, but misrepresenting his opponent would just get him killed even faster.

The nice thing about Misawa’s logic puzzles, despite how  _ irritating  _ they could be, was that they always had a solution. 

This, unfortunately, was a different scenario, and the countdown to the outcome, to the end, just continued on. Unceasing.

Unchanged.

\---

_ “Hey, if-” _

\---

Inside the tower room, nothing was different. The glossy, wooden table was bracketed by two high-backed chairs. The shelves along the far wall held thick books and scrolls, the edges curling in with age. On three delicate legs, the telescope was angled by the arrowslit, a cross-shape that let the moonlight in. 

Through it, there was the human village to the south, curls of smoke rising from the low houses. Small farmers’ plots were behind the crude wooden walls, and the patrols cycled and cycled. 

Knocking over the telescope would accomplish nothing, and Manjoume, curling his hands in his pockets, knew that he could fuck up what happened next. There was the Supreme King, entering and passing barefoot over the stone floor, wrapped in a stark white. His hands were loose and empty, the sharp points of Judai’s wrists covered by the falling sleeves. 

“The executions proceeded on schedule,” he said, unblinking. “The prisoners you encountered today are now dead.”

“If you want to see me cry, you’re going to have to try harder than that,” Manjoume heard himself say, and then,  _ stunned  _ by how stupid that was, he slapped his forehead. Wow. Shit.

He really could die here.

When he pulled his hand away, the Supreme King was still there, standing in the middle of the room, separated from the curling dark by the strong cut of white. Judai’s hair was wet, and water traced his neck, exposed. The armor would have covered it, a precaution against arrows and blades. Many had a reason to want this ruler dead.

“Yuki Judai cannot recover from the sights he has been made to witness. You understand that, as someone who has started to break in the same way.”

“Shut up,” Manjoume shot back, and he imagined the glass of the telescope shattering, the lens made useless under his heel. “Stop acting like  _ you  _ know me, because, sorry, I don’t make friends with just anyone.”

A moment passed, and then the Supreme King stepped closer, a whisper of cloth and a trace of shadow. The strength was held back, retracted like the blade of a utility knife. 

“I know you’ve considered killing me, even if that would mean, from your limited perspective, killing Judai as well.”

“You...don’t understand what ‘shut up’ means, do you?”

“However, you lack the necessary resolve,” the Supreme King stated, flat and controlled. “By noon tomorrow, that village will have fallen, and-”

And then Manjoume’s fists were clenched next to Judai’s neck, balled in the white fabric that felt like it would give at any second, strained more and more as his grip tightened because, fuck,  _ fuck _ , he couldn’t stop it. He couldn’t stop at all, caged by that mad, flickering urge to ram his knuckles against the Supreme King’s mask and see if it would finally crack. He wanted to. 

He  _ would  _ have, but the greedy shadows were writhing at his ankles. The Supreme King had let him cross the distance, and behind the gold, there was only a void.

Manjoume let go, and then he turned away.

“I thought you would go further than that,” was the simple observation, given with that same dead voice. “Such a weak heart could never survive in this world.”

“I-I…” Through the gap, the downward roll of a valley showed, under the spreading fog. “I took you for a sadist, not a masochist. Guess I was wrong, but either way, I’m not interested.”

“A weak deflection.”

“I didn’t ask for your opinion, so fuck off and-”

Cold fingers were on the nape of his neck, on the space above his high turtleneck and pressing tight against his bare skin, and the Supreme King was standing behind him, angling Judai’s calloused hand until it clasped over his throat, his wild pulse beating against a palm. Everything inside his head was gone, smashed down to useless shards, and-

And he shuddered hard at the first rasp of Judai’s voice, something without warmth. The grip tightened, and a bowed head was on his shoulder, a slight pressure that carried with it a greater threat, like a blade pressed against a string before it was driven down, parting the fibers below and making a clean, final cut.

“You stopped yourself from giving in to anger, as it would’ve led to your second death. If you had tried to choke me,” the Supreme King said, flexing Judai’s fingers higher, a bitten-down nail dragging over his chin, “my shadows would have severed your carotid arteries. Blood loss would have taken you quickly, but perhaps it’s better this way. I have a different plan for you now.”

In those logic puzzles that Misawa would ramble off between their classes, there were usually three types of characters: knights, who always told the truth; knaves, who always told a lie; and spies, who would give a random answer, just to fuck everything up and make Manjoume break pencils, swear under his breath, and, eventually, stalk over to the Ra Yellow dorm, the Ojamas bobbing behind him and yelling out their own (inevitably wrong) answers. At the end, there was something satisfying about how the pieces would click together, and then the answer would just be  _ there _ , brilliant and undeniable. The structure underlying it would be perfect, and, even though he wasn't a  _ tenth  _ the nerd that Misawa Daichi was, Manjoume could appreciate the final effect, a complex web formed and held together by just a few assumptions.

But reality was chaotic. The only rules here were invented by a mad king, and the puzzle just wouldn't click into place, turning and spinning so uselessly. 

Fuck.

"Huh. I thought you were keeping me around for a reason. You know, to fix those flaws with your 'vessel,'" Manjoume said, the words he ground out flat, dead, but the flutter of his pulse had to betray him. Breaking the thick grey of the clouds, a strange blue turned in the sky, like a piece of some better, brighter world, and Manjoume stared at it as rough-edged nails dragged on his bottom lip and pulled at the knots of dried blood. "So, if that was a serious threat and not just some sadistic fantasy, your critical thinking is just as bad as Judai's, maybe even worse."

A beat, a moment drawn out over an abyss. The distant object fell and fell. 

Judai's fingers moved up to his forehead, ghosting over the crooked line of that scar, and finally Manjoume found the answer, the end of the Supreme King's mindgames. That end was approaching, quickly.

"You're making a mistake." No words were given, just the slight tug of Judai's nails over the scar. Manjoume continued. "What...kind of tyrant kills off the one person capable of making him stronger? You can't seal away those weak impulses without me, and killing me will just lead to your downfall."

No words. Nothing, again. 

The telescope was less than a meter away, and Manjoume swung for it. He hit nothing, because the Supreme King had thrown him down to the floor, down and away from that slim view to the outside world, where his friends had to be. Asuka. Kenzan. Fubuki. Sho. Jo-

_ Fuck _ . 

"It's not by chance that I came to inhabit this body," the Supreme King stated, and then he rammed Judai's bare foot against Manjoume's chest, the heel pressing down. "Super Polymerization is the embodiment of absolute power, a tool of both unity and destruction. Judai, a natural alchemist, was needed to unify its parts, the negative emotions that must be manipulated like chemicals. To perfect the card, I have offered it victory after victory."

"S-Sounds like you can't live without him," Manjoume gasped out, and when he raised himself on his elbows, the Supreme King moved back, cloth rasping. Their eyes met. 

"A false conclusion. I use unity for the sake of destruction, but Judai, a shattered soul, cannot use destruction for the sake of unity. He cannot challenge my use of the card, just as he cannot challenge my use of his body." The Supreme King tilted Judai's head, regarding the telescope again, and then the twisting stare returned. "The natural end of Super Polymerization's use is isolation, and those without power cannot survive isolation."

The gold revealed nothing, and Manjoume, sick and numb and almost dead, had started to laugh, harsh like metal hitting metal. He smelled smoke. He wanted out. 

"Sure, go ahead. Kill me. Throw me away, whatever. It's all proof that you have terrible judgement," he shot back, sneering. Time to play a card, one of the few he had left -- an ugly, battered thing that he had thought up in the dark of his cell. It could crumble in seconds. "Here, I'll give you one last piece of advice. Consider it my application for the position of royal advisor, which, since you can't fucking recognize it, is what a genius like myself  _ deserves _ ."

Not that he would ever willingly stand within ten kilometres of this monster, but he could deal with the contradictions later. Not-dying was important. Not-having-Judai-watch-him-die- _ again  _ was also extremely important. 

In wide rings, the shadows drifted over the floor, and he tracked their movements as he continued. A pale shape, the Supreme King remained still, silent. 

"Let's assume your story about how you found me isn't complete bullshit, and, sure, let's also assume that I'm the only person revived from the Internal Canon, just so we're not arguing about the details," he added, hating the necessity of it, and the Supreme King's eyes narrowed, a focus gathering. "Well, that means someone out there is messing with you. They tampered with the card because they  _ knew  _ your vessel would have these weird, conflicting urges and that you would use  _ me  _ to draw them out. Isn't that a  _ major  _ problem for you, the self-declared ruler of this dimension? Doesn't it  _ bother  _ you that all of this, including your possession of Judai, is part of an outsider's plan?"

"I know that," the Supreme King said, and the whirling shadows drew in, brushing the hem of his long robe. "But the fact remains that no duelist can defeat me. This dimension will fall."

"....You're being manipulated, and yet you're...don't give a fuck?" Laughing again, tasting blood, Manjoume shook his head. "Huh. Okay. Guess you're more of a fool than I thought. So-"

A single step, and the Supreme King was only a fraction closer, and yet it was as if his stare had turned tangible, the slow pass of if over Manjoume's face pressurized, twin pupils spreading a deep, piercing cold. 

"Your fear shows through. It always has," he stated, and Manjoume thought of calloused fingers under his chin, jerking it up while the Supreme King cut into Judai's face with a damning, cruel smirk, like a crack in the glass over a familiar picture. "I will drive out the impulses that remain with the scene of your death. You cannot stop it."

"W-Wait, I… I-I know who it is. I know the person orchestrating everything," he heard himself say, almost in disbelief. This was his last card. "If you kill me, you'll never find out who the mastermind is."

"Their identity doesn't concern me."

"How can you fucking-?"

"Anyone who challenges me will be destroyed," the Supreme King answered, and then that hand was on his forehead again, mapping the ridges of that scar, and Manjoume flinched hard when the nails dug in, tearing into him. He should have ran, but- "Few can see the darkness before it materializes," the Supreme King said suddenly, rolling one of Judai's shoulders. Shadows fell from it, pouring away from Judai's exposed collarbone and the strong shape of his neck, of his jawline dashed with freckles. "However, your attempts to predict my actions by watching their movements are misguided. I've been aware of your heightened senses from the beginning."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," was what Manjoume shot back with, and Judai's fingertips trailed his own blood down his face, flirting over the high points in some disgusting parody of a human action.

"You're right to be afraid."

"Repeating myself is really annoying, but, again, I have no idea what you're-"

"You're going to die tomorrow night. This is just the prelude, the necessary actions to heighten your fear before the end. Your desperation shows that you understand this truth, and yet you speak with such denial. It won't last."

"Try me."

"I'll start here," the Supreme King drawled, alive but without warmth, using Judai's voice to make that impossible sound, and Manjoume kept still as Judai's fingers danced over his right eye, open and unblinking. "You should know of the seven alchemical metals. Quicksilver, the liquid form of mercury, was of great interest to exoteric alchemists, and many believed that it held the key to immortality. Many also died from ingesting it, hoping to find affirmation for their own misguided theories."

"You're not making any sense. Maybe you should call yourself the Mad King, since it'd be more accurate."

Tap. Tap. "Your eyes are the colour of quicksilver, a substance of great promise in the hands of a genius and great danger in the hands of a fool. I wonder for how long that colour will remain after I cut it out."

And then too many things happened at once, the touch gone and the shadows on the floor snapping back, the pull of a leash that brought the guards in. The Supreme King moved red fingertips down one sleeve of the white robe, leaving three parallel stains, but the orders got to him the most, making his world shutter and then blur. The end, stark like the red, like the blue spinning and spinning over a wasteland, had been decided.

"Take the captive to his cell and restrain him there. The body should be removed by the third day and displayed with the others. After, report to me for reassignment."

"Yes, my lord."

And then they were just leaving, Squinty taking the usual vice grip on his arm, and that's when the switch flipped, Manjoume throwing his entire weight against the hold and taking every millimeter of freedom. Every one had to count.

He was yelling.

"Judai, I swear I'll haunt you forever if you don't fucking  _ try _ . Do you understand me?! I would never stop fighting, and I won't give in, no matter what happens next, so don't let go of your pride, because-"

"Don't harm him," was from the Supreme King, an amendment that saved him from the drive of Squinty's right hook, suspended in midair, like a video on pause. 

And then Manjoume was sliding across the floor, aware that he was screaming  _ something  _ and making futile hits to Squinty's oversized arms, but, fuck, how could he stop?

How could he die  _ here _ ?

"Shame we can't do him in," Scales muttered, taking the left side, and after the stairs was the first hallway, where they would take a right, and then-

Think.

_ Think. _

Although his current deck was Ojama based with some mechanical monsters thrown in, he had thought about running a straight A-to-Z deck again, for the satisfaction of collecting the pieces in the same way that he still watched black-and-white detective serials over and over again, listened to a certain pompous Ra Yellow lecture him on 'epistemic logic' or whatever the fuck, and actually  _ listened  _ to the plot summaries of the old cartoons that Judai used to watch, always ready to point out the plot holes or interrupt with a theory.

Think, and-

And there it was, the strategy for getting out of here. Only, he needed the same luck needed to draw one-thousand golden yolks in a row.

He needed Judai's luck, multiplied by a factor of ten. 

Considering their history, Scales wouldn't miss a chance of torment him, even if it was only verbally, and Squinty, wary of the other lead guard, would listen to every word, waiting for an infraction to reprimand the other for. The two dumb dragon guards had the back corners of their formation, and they could interfere, their brute strength a troublesome variable in this equation. 

They needed to stop at the top of the staircase leading to the dungeon level.

"Never thought it'd end this way," Manjoume muttered, his head down. A bad joke would throw the guards off a little. Well, hopefully. "Are there lawyers in this dimension? I could use legal counsel."

"Sorry, the Supreme King's will is the only law we follow," Scales supplied, and Squinty maintained that grim silence.

"Huh. Figures." Going boneless under that grip, he dragged his steps, and then he forced a chuckle. "Well, at least one of you idiots will get something out of this. Congratulations on the promotion. I send my regards in advance, considering, you know, the murderous tyrant keen on dismembering me himself. Should I be honoured by that?" Another chuckle, and he had felt Squinty stiffen, a miniscule tightening of the grip. Scales was more obvious, looking over with a visible snarl.

"... Promotion?"

Snorting, he delayed his answer, his bangs a curtain over his drawn face. A camera crew should've been here, filming what would've been the greatest audition reel of all time, the performance of ten lifetimes.

Then again, no one should  _ ever  _ know about this, any of it. 

"That human village to the south, with the wooden walls. The upcoming attack needs a new commander, someone who follows orders. Seriously, it's amazing what you can learn from the guy ripping your face off," Manjoume explained, flicking his head back next, the scar still a torn open mass. His lip had broken again. 

"No more talk," Squinty warned, and the next turn had taken them to the last hallway, a narrow, dingy thing lit by intricate metal torches, and, if there was ever a time for him to suddenly gain mind controlling powers, then it was right now, as the rear guards approached the stairwell and-

Stopped. 

He exhaled slowly, sagging between the two remaining obstacles, and counted the steps down. Entering the dungeon was unavoidable. Starting a conflict here would let the noise carry, and, hitting twenty, he slowly raised his head and watched Scales open the heavy door, the hinges sounding out.

"There should be shackles in the last cell," Scales drawled out, and Manjoume was made to follow him through the door, Squinty hefting a torch with his other hand. Claw. Paw-thing. 

"Retrieve them."

"Yeah, I  _ will _ ," Scales snapped, and the door shut, Squinty dragging Manjoume with that same single-minded force. Orange light flickered against the stones, and Manjoume counted until only ten steps were left to the cell. Thirteen were behind him.

"He thought you would've killed each other by now. Guess that would've made the decision easier, huh?" Manjoume heard himself say, vibrating with the control he needed, a rope pulled to its limits. They were so close, the gleam of an axe like a beacon, and he held his breath, staring and  _ staring  _ at the slight grain marring the metal, scratched from conflict after conflict.

Water dripped, and then Scales, flexing one of four arms, reached back and made the swing, directed at the turned head of Squinty, but it wouldn't be an easy fight. 

Manjoume made sure of that, because, yelping, he had just ducked, a warning that had made Squinty's sword meet the axe with a sharp, resounding clang. 

Squinty released his arm, necessary to grip the hilt and block the next directed swing, with renewed force behind it as the scaled guard raged, spit flying through the air. Thrown, the torch rolled between them, and Manjoume -- transfixed, breathing hard as Scales made contact, driving the axe head into the meat of Squinty's shoulder -- knew that he was running into the action, that it was his own hand snaking up Scales's back and pulling hard at the silver chain.

When the key flew loose, he grabbed it, and then the axe was coming down over him, the air  _ gone  _ from his lungs as he dove behind the hulking cat demon choking on its own blood. An inferno showed through its cracked helmet, the many eyes showing pure hate, and, snarling, it did not give in. It fought back, and Manjoume was running for the dungeon door when a scream broke out, guttural and wet, something heavy hitting the ground, hard. Opening the door quickly would make noise, and, twisting the key, he controlled the motion, the hinges giving just  _ enough  _ to let him fit through. He kept the key, a burning shape against his palm. He closed the door at that same pace, the next scream more of a whimper, a cry muffled by pain, and through the shrinking gap, he saw Squinty rip the soaked weapon from Scales's opened chest, a hole of twisting pink and red, and then stagger back, reaching for the ruined mass of its shoulder, the wound extending to the barrel of its neck and sluggishly leaking black blood. 

After the door had shut, he tucked the key inside his coat. There was no scuffle from the top of the staircase. There was no ominous drop of an approaching step. 

Like everything in this forsaken dimension, the staircase itself was a broken-down mess, the steps uneven and crumbling, and, on his knees, he felt for where the material would give out. A stone was all he needed -- small and light enough to hurl over the guards heads for a quick distraction, maybe even pinging a metal torch and knocking it over. 

No other plans made sense. Stalling too long could make the guards suspicious, and, steeling himself, Manjoume slowly walked up the stairs, careful not to knock more stones loose. 

If anyone asked, Manjoume would say that, obviously, he was very athletic, definitely a natural with the perfect reflexes of a world-famous table tennis player and the throws of a judo master. If he was forced, under pain of death, to give a  _ different  _ answer, then, eventually, he  _ might  _ admit that, okay,  _ maybe  _ he had, during an impromptu serving lesson with Asuka, hit himself with his own racket and then passed out. Twice.

Maybe there was a fucking reason he had always skipped gym class, or more accurately 'Public Humiliation Hour,' and there was officially something wrong with the universe, because his life and death should  _ not  _ have depended on throwing a  _ thing  _ and hitting a target. Such bullshit. So annoying, and as he watched two identical green tails wave over the steps, the guards in formation with their backs straight, Manjoume had to blink away flashes of the gore sealed behind the locked door, the blood flowing in rivulets from a splitting neck. And, next, there was the Supreme King, a phantom in immaculate white and crossing the space between them, bare feet over dark stone.

Later.

He could be a shaking wreck  _ later _ . Now, he was about to implement the master-level version of tapping on someone's shoulder and then running in the opposite direction.

A cheer from the Ojamas would've helped, a lot, and Manjoume braced his legs, wound his arm back, and then let go. 

The stone hit the torch, tipped it over, and then scurried down the hall, making two identical, crested heads turn. A beat passed, and then they stepped forward, leaving a space to the right, a space that Manjoume threw himself through as he sprinted away, unthinking and unhearing. And the two dumb, preoccupied guards never saw him, never noticed  _ anything _ , because he was off like a fucking bullet, like a sparrow from an opened cage that had been rattled for far,  _ far  _ too long. 

And, like that, Manjoume was gone, gone,  _ gone _ .

\---

_ "Hey, if-" _

\---

No one should ever know of what had happened in that castle, but in case, somehow, the stories got out and started circulating around Duel Academia, Manjoume had already decided on how to summarize his escape from the guards and his adventures alone within the winding halls. 

There were more daring exploits, of  _ course _ , and several unarmed conflicts that he, being the one and only Manjoume Thunder, emerged from victorious. Oh, and he outsmarted the incoming patrols, naturally. All of this demonstrated why he should be at the top of his class and, one day, the dueling world, showing himself as the rising star of his generation.

Naturally. Who could doubt any of  _ that _ ?

The reality wouldn't help his image at all. Eventually, he had stopped running, sweat pouring down his face and prickling on the back of his neck, and he had wiped it away, shivering harder and harder until he had found himself on the ground, clutching at his knees while everything else tilted and blurred. A noise had snapped him out of it, forcing him to flatten against the wall between it and an armor rack, and he had waited out the few demons that passed, holding spears and jeering at each other. They were not panicked.

With some luck, no one would realize he had escaped until tomorrow night, when the Supreme King found his slain guards and an empty cell instead of a half-starved prisoner in chains, and, immediately, he shoved away the implications there, that  _ he  _ had made them attack each other and-

And, fantastic. A dead end. 

It happened again and again, each false path bringing him back to the conundrum that was this mess of a layout, an irrational, nonsensical maze. Throwing himself out one of the windows -- or, more accurately, the window-like holes, since actual  _ glass  _ was clearly too good for this dump -- seemed like a bad move, considering how much effort it took to keep his eyes open, those black spots clustering together. A warning sign. 

Wandering aimlessly could lead to his recapture, which  _ would _ lead to game over, and, seizing that thought, he moved deeper and deeper into the castle, picking only the corridors with the most dust and cobwebs, the torch holders empty. Except for the stretch of wall above the main gate, the structure of the castle itself joined with the terrain around it, and from the ramparts, he had seen thin, dirt trails snaking up the steep inclines. 

They had to start somewhere, maybe from the castle itself, and, taking in the thick, cloying air, he continued on, moving further into the pervasive dark. 

\---

_ "-something ever happens to-" _

\---

After he returned to Duel Academia, there were ten things that he needed to do, in order from least to most challenging. 

One. Finish at least three courses of Miss Tome's signature breakfast in one sitting, thereby shattering the record set by Tyranno Kenzan and putting that upstart in his place. 

Two. Find a way to sneak a copy of Power Wall into Edo Phoenix's deck and watch that arrogant bastard deal with the ultimate conflict: play the card like a normal human being or give in to the undeniable urge to copy Marufuji Ryo's signature throwing-cards-absolutely-everywhere gesture, which would result in his precious heroes touching the floor. It could be entertaining. Or Manjoume could be smacked in the face by an errant copy of a Destiny Hero. 

Still, worth the risk. 

Three. Install a Rei-proof security system for the Manjoume Room. Enough said. 

Four. Make a functional A-to-Z deck with the added condition that no Ojamas could go anywhere  _ near  _ it, since that loudmouth trio had a bad habit of worming their way into his decks. Or, okay,  _ he  _ had a bad habit of shoving them into his decks, the most obvious way of getting the duel spirits to shut up. Few forces could be harder to combat than the shrill voice of an Ojama at three am, inevitably whining about  _ something  _ moronic.

Five. Actually fill out those early applications for a position in the Pro League, without which he couldn't even  _ begin  _ to find an agency. 

Six. Find an agency.

Seven. Figure out how to pay his brothers back for his tuition, which would be even more paperwork, unfortunately. In his humble opinion, the Supreme King had severely underestimated the brain-melting mundanity of being forced to enter the same fucking  _ things  _ into different labeled boxes, a form of torture that would've had him screaming in seconds, because that was the point of those interactions, right? To torture him. Bit by bit, until his tormentor decided that he was ready for the final cut, the apex of that cruel spectacle designed to make Judai-

His cheek stung where he had slapped himself, like hitting a computer's power switch when it started doing weird, annoying shit. A restart fixed things. Sometimes. Dodging a withered guard, its line of sight impeded by both the darkness and the fact that a dagger's hilt jutted out of its right eye socket, he followed the slight trace of a breeze, pulsing against the stifling pressure of the tunnels because, apparently, this place, like the set of a bad medieval-fantasy movie, had fucking  _ tunnels _ , complete with dog-sized rats and bones that had been picked clean. 

Point eight was already exponentially harder than everything before it, no matter how badly he wanted to do it -- a fact entrenched in his veins, inside his blood. 

Eight. Apologize to Asuka, because he shouldn't have broken that promise and left Judai alone with that  _ thing  _ inside his head. Sure, Manjoume shouldn't have been  _ here  _ at all, but that was a poor excuse for failing her. Even after he returned here and destroyed the Supreme King's spirit, he would still apologize to her. He needed to stand in front of her again, which meant that she had to be alive like him, right? 

She had to be alive, otherwise-

His shoes slapped against the wet ground, and ahead there was a piercing light, dancing on the ripples in the shallow, foul water pooling below. 

Nine. Beat Yuki Judai in a duel, something that depended on, you know, Judai ever looking at him again. Ten was similar. 

Ten. Beat Yuki Judai in a duel and then confess before they both graduated, because Manjoume would not let himself be a coward, not anymore.

\---

_ Before they had stepped through the portal, he had almost punched Judai, overtaken by something desperate and clawing, chaotic. He wanted to blame Judai for making him imagine how much it would hurt.  _

_ How much it would hurt if his rival never came back, leaving him with just those scattered memories and the emptied space where someone used to be.  _

\---

When it happened, he expected something to go wrong, such as a guard shouting out a warning or the earth under him tearing itself apart, because of all of this was just some cosmic joke and the universe, an unfair bastard, wouldn't let him get away, would it?

Overheard was only grey. From the dilapidated, slanted exit, a wooden door pulling off its hinges and creaking with every surge of the wind, he stared down a steep incline of exposed rock, some frail, yellowed plants trying to raise themselves. Past that, within running distance, was the treeline, leading to a series of hills and valleys, rivers parting the masses of green, and Manjoume went for it. Branches whipped at his face, tearing in, but he kept going, almost tripping with each laboured, unsteady step, and moving towards him, hitting an even faster speed, was someone wrapped in a pale cloak. 

No.

Not  _ happening _ , and Manjoume tore away from them, pushing into the forest with everything that he had, his legs on  _ fire _ , and that shape in his peripheral vision only grew closer. Contact happened suddenly, a hand shooting out and grasping for purchase at his jacket, and, spinning fast, Manjoume went for their throat. 

But the hood had fallen back, and he almost collapsed at the sight of Johan's beaming face, his choppy blue hair rippling with the wind. 

"Our reunion's going to be a short one if we don't get out of here," he said, the urgency clear, and, stunned, Manjoume felt himself nod and follow the master of the Crystal Beasts down the next hill. "The guards should double back soon, and, maybe you have a different opinion, but I don't exactly feel like dealing with them. Makes sense, right?"

"Yeah. It...does."

"I'll get you out of here, Manjoume," Johan added, and Manjoume stopped for half a second, blinking fast because, wait, wasn't that supposed to be  _ his  _ line? In a different dimension, in which Manjoume had experienced the dubious pleasure of becoming a duel zombie and thus getting brainwashed  _ again _ , Johan had sacrificed himself to let them all escape. Isolated, he would have been trapped by Yubel, a duel spirit warped by the Light of Destruction. Or, wait, shouldn't-

"Sorry to rush you, but we have to hurry," Johan said next, and Manjoume nodded, falling into place at Johan's left. 

From this angle, there was the blue object in the sky, hurling faster and faster. 

At his side, there was Johan Andersen, pushing back a low branch and directing them towards a shallow river, but something was wrong.

His eyes should've been green.

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...........................apologizes to all of the characters in this fic.


	6. Reduced

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Some of the dialogue here is from episode 131, featuring minor alterations.
> 
> sorry, thunder.

\---

Drip, drip, drip-

\---

Drip, drip-

Someone else was here, a presence over him that broke the isolation, and Manjoume flew back, knocking against rock and bringing his knees up for a barricade, his fingers clenched into numb fists, and Johan's face dropped into an apologetic smile as he slowly raised his hands. One held a scrap of wet cloth, the new stains like rust.

"Sorry, I...was probably out of line, but looking at that cut was...starting to get to me," Johan said, and that explained the slight chill across his forehead, his hair pushed back. Carefully, Manjoume stood up, bracing himself against the jagged rock, and although the cave was lit only by the thin light from the entrance, it was still enough to make out the incorrect colour, that stark orange. 

"Let me guess. I passed out, so you decided to play 'nurse'," Manjoume began, and immediately Johan was waving his hands everywhere, a nervous chuckle bouncing everywhere. 

"Ah, don't say it like that…"

"I'm just stating a fact," Manjoume retorted, and there were more chuckles and more unnecessary gestures, but no amount of sleep deprivation, dehydration, or starvation could make him ignore that colour, bright like that of a poisonous creature. The Misawa-voice in the back of his head supplied the bullshit term of ‘ _ aposematic coloration _ ,’ which indicated that, okay, he had to start ignoring those nerd ramblings more, otherwise Misawa’s geeky-ness would permanently transfer onto his own incredible person. Before their groups had split up, Misawa had stood next to Tania, his smile shy while she raised an arm and nodded, and Manjoume closed the lid on that image, another distraction he had to put away. 

Another box to open later.

When Johan suddenly leaned back, balancing on his heels, Manjoume was ready for the turn to happen because the dimension was sick, rotten to the core, and this could be another of its bad jokes.

"You've probably got some questions for me, although," Johan added after rising and walking towards the entrance, a hood bunched around his neck, "I'm pretty curious myself. This dimension, it's full of confusing things."

"Everyone's looking for you," was the statement Manjoume decided on, because it was true. Duel Academia had become hollow and empty, the simple, child-like things of the past gone. 

The wielder of Rainbow Dragon had risked everything for their sake, and now he was here, framed by the gathering mist that obscured the narrow vein of a river. Following it, they had found this place, Johan's temporary camp littered with battered supplies and a scorched fire pit, and, with a deep, crawling horror, Manjoume imagined him fading into that mist, being taken away by it and vanishing, again.

Or maybe that already happened, and he was looking at the broken pieces that remained, shoved into a familiar shape by another demon, another enemy. 

Fuck. 

The damp of the mist mixed with the wet of the cave, sticky like green algae and clinging to the slick patches where this Johan, maybe a not-Johan at all, had wiped the dried blood and grime away. If this person, maybe this  _ thing _ , wanted him dead, that would’ve been a pointless gesture, unless this was part two of some ongoing torture game. The tips of Johan’s blue hair had joined with the pale mist, and drops of water ran down his tattered cloak. Human fingers pulled at the holes in the sleeves, making them bigger.

“I’ve spent most of my time following the soldiers around, which sounds like it makes no sense, but sometimes the best way not to get caught is to chase instead,” Johan said with a soft voice, and he looked up with a plastered-on smile, because Johan smiled a lot, maybe even more than Judai did. “I’ve heard them talk about intruders from a distant place. Most have...been rounded up, apparently. I didn’t want to believe it, but I-”

“So, let me get this straight,” Manjoume interjected, and he hauled himself up to his full height, taking a pointed step towards the opening of the cave. “You escape from Yubel, end up here in the Dark World, and learn that your allies are here and  _ obviously  _ looking for you, so  _ you  _ decide to just...hide out? Take rations off guards and sulk in a cave?” No answer, Johan’s unnaturally wide eyes going even wider, and Manjoume bit off his next words, a snarling climbing higher and higher. “If that’s the case, then you’re a coward, and it’s disgraceful that I ever put my life on the line for yours. You’re insulting what the others have sacrificed, and-”

“You’re wrong.” There was no panic, no cornered stare. Johan continued. “Manjoume, please understand. I’ve been doing all I can to reach everyone, but this area we’re in is a nightmare. I hate every second of it, and I’m  _ trying  _ to get out.”

“Oh? And why should I believe that?”

“Why should…?” A pause, their eyes locked, and then Johan reached up and felt the ridge of his right eyebrow, trailing down to the curve of his cheekbone. Between them, there was the orange, the mark of danger. “After my duel with Yubel ended, I had to summon Rainbow Dragon again. It was like I poured part of my soul in that card. I gave that card everything it asked for, and when the bridge formed, it led me here. I...think these eyes are a sign of my new bond with the Crystal Beasts, but…” Manjoume flinched at Johan’s focus, strong and clear. “It’s still me, I promise. Maybe I can’t convince you with just these words, but, honestly, I still want to be your friend. I’ve always wanted that.”

Yes, it was extremely typical for Johan goddamn Andersen to say something so  _ emotion-y _ , like the earnest side-character in a romantic comedy, and Manjoume caught himself shaking his head, as if he had just swallowed the act, as if this  _ alone  _ was proof. He sat down, complaining about the cold, and good-kid Johan, almost  _ sparkling  _ with the barely-restrained desire to be useful, immediately jumped into lighting the fire. When the first sticks were positioned, like the poles for a miniature tent with whorls of yellowed grass for sleeping bags, Johan began explaining how the direction of the wind was perfect to deal with the resulting smoke and that the blanket of mist had various positives and negatives, the main negative being the damp air. Next was a lecture on tree varieties and the importance of using dried wood.

And, sure, Manjoume listened.

He listened a lot more than he usually did. 

\---

_ “He’s kind of a weirdo, that Johan Andersen,” Sho concluded, and Manjoume, who was trying to finish a ten-page report in ten minutes, smacked him with an eraser.  _

_ It had no effect. _

_ “Then again,” Sho added, which messed up the first sentence of Manjoume’s conclusion and made him consider the extended misery of his life for the thousandth time, beginning and ending with the younger Marufuji brother, who sometimes followed him like an over-puffed shih tzu and had the snarky attitude of an even smaller dog, “Aniki’s also a weirdo, and that’s kind of his style, you know? Maybe everyone who can see duel spirits has to be a little strange, or, in your case, really strange. With lots of deep-seated anger issues. And a rival complex that-” _

_ When Manjoume tried to make Sho eat his eraser, there was an immediate effect, in that they were both kicked out of the library. _

\---

_ Ever since the transfers had arrived, it had become a popular game to list the similarities between Johan and Judai, right down to their near-identical heights and actually-identical shoe sizes.  _

_ People tended to miss the most notable one -- they both inspired the same near-impossible-to-ignore urge in Manjoume, which was to throw either one of them into the ocean whenever they opened their stupid mouths and said something that gave him a headache, instantly. Like fucking magic. _

_ “Do you know that the Romans based a shield formation off of how tortoise shells work?” Johan said, to Manjoume Thunder. While he was eating breakfast. Everyone else had scrambled away from the table to cheer Pharoah on as he lazily swatted at a sunbeam, somehow missing the unmoving target. Because Manjoume had been stunned, that familiar pound-pound-pound starting at the front of his skull, Johan took it as an opportunity to continue -- all cheery, nauseating bounces and smiles. “See, the idea was to make a shield wall at the front and a shield ceiling to cover the remaining soldiers, so all kinds of projectiles would be deflected. Pretty cool, huh?” _

_ “...Yeah. Sure.” _

_ “Also,” Johan chirped, his elbows on the table, “do you that tortoises can live to be over 200 years old? Not many other animals can compete with that.” _

_ “...Are you rehearsing for a zookeeper interview?” Manjoume asked, which, by his extremely high standards, was a very weak insult, so weak that  _ he  _ felt insulted by hearing himself say it. And yet Johan just laughed, higher than Judai’s and different. Very different. _

_ Not bad-different. Just  _ different _. _

_ “Huh? What’s going on here?” Judai, who had apparently teleported back to their table, said with a toothy grin, and then he slung an arm around Manjoume’s shoulders, which was A Problem. _

_ For a correction, Manjoume shoved him off, and he turned back to Johan, who had rested his chin on his palm, his smile bright. “Well, your back-up rival was telling me, your  _ actual  _ rival, all about turtles, and, please, don’t ask me why, because I don’t have the slightest idea why.” _

_ “Turtles are different from tortoises,” Johan corrected, and he laughed again when Manjoume put on his best glare, the one he mentally called the ‘Thunder Strike’. But Judai remained a distraction, A Problem, and his calloused fingers brushed the back of Manjoume’s neck when that arm returned, Judai lounging in the seat next to his and poking at Sho’s tray of food. _

_ “‘Back-up rival’ is a bit harsh, don’t you think?” _

_ “No,” and when Johan laughed yet-again, Manjoume blurted out, “Hear that?! He’s totally fine with it. He’s accepted his fate as a subordinate of Manjoume Thunder, Legend of North Academy.” _

_ “Hmm… Sounds to me like you’re a little jealous, Thunder,” Judai drawled out, and Manjoume’s plan of tipping Judai’s chair over had one major flaw, which he only discovered after he had already hooked his foot around that back leg and pulled. _

_ Judai was still attached, and that already-strange morning got a  _ lot  _ stranger when, sputtering, Manjoume struggled to lift himself off the floor, Judai’s legs making weird, puzzle-like connections with his knees, increasingly uncooperative, the proximity too  _ much _. And it was a declaration of all-out war when Judai, with a slow drag of, “Well, if you want to play rough…,” went for his ribcage, because some cruel deity had made Manjoume Thunder ticklish, his own Achilles Heel, and everyone was late for class. Absolutely everyone, since Johan got involved, which naturally unleashed the two terrors of Sho and Kenzan, and then Rei was trying to yank Judai away in the confusion, and- _

_ “This is your fault,” Manjoume announced to a smirking Johan Andersen as they ran towards the main building, Johan having the fucking nerve to make it look  _ easy _. Several meters behind them, the combined forces to Sho, Kenzan, Asuka, and Rei were trying to physically drag Judai to class, since, ‘Ah, it’s already so late,’ wasn’t a viable excuse. At all. _

_ “Seems to me like you’re the one with the problem,” Johan said, which multiplied the headache by a factor of ten, then a hundred, then a  _ thousand _ , and no matter how hard he chased, he couldn’t catch the giggling user of the Crystal Beasts, something far,  _ far  _ too knowing about his wide smirk. _

\---

_ “Why are we inviting Johan?” _

_ Asuka, with a beleaguered sigh, put the pen down, the brackets for their makeshift tournament half-filled. “If you want to be this difficult, I’m going to lock you out,” she said evenly, and, to prove her point, she neatly wrote his name in.  _

_ “Whatever, but if we  _ are  _ inviting Johan, you have to change that menu,” Manjoume stated, and at her confused look, he jabbed at the ingredient list for the pre-tournament dinner. “He went vegetarian last week. I don’t usually need to starve my opponents to win, but, hey, suit yourself.” _

_ “....Oh. I...never noticed that.”  _

_ “Maybe that’s why Judai likes him so much. He frees up portions of fried shrimp.” _

_ “Hmm. Normally he just takes them from you,” Asuka said next, a playful smile flashing across her features. “These brackets are going to be tough. We’ll adjust them after talking over the rules with everyone. The ban list might be controversial, for one thing.” _

_ “Some of  _ my  _ cards are on there. I’ll complain more than anyone else,” Manjoume muttered, and Asuka batted his arm after rising from her desk chair. A month ago, he would have exploded at the thought of being alone with Asuka in her room, and, trudging back to Slifer Red, he shook his head until that realization  _ stopped  _ happening, like rolling a pair of dice over and over until the right numbers popped up. _

_ That tournament, a break from their studies, never happened, the Duel Band fiasco suddenly spiraling out of control, the mechanisms of a sharp mind closing around them and blocking out the light. _

\---

_ -and Ruby Carbuncle pushed her head into the hollow of Johan’s palm, mewling slightly. It made the duelist, the person who would later sacrifice himself, relax his shoulders even more, all against the backdrop of the pristine-blue ocean, the waves driving in. _

\---

In the supplies Johan had 'borrowed' from the Supreme King's guards, there were rancid slabs of uncooked meat and withered hunks of jerky so dry that they chipped when Manjoume smacked them against a rock, which meant that, by default, he was picking at the nuts, berries, and mushrooms that Johan had collected earlier, all tasteless and plain, like shoveling white flour into his mouth and trying not to gag.

But the crackle of the fire was a positive, their shadows dancing on the domed ceiling of the narrow cave, and even though the temperature was dropping fast, piercing the dull, brown cloak Manjoume had wrapped himself in, he could only complain so much. He stretched his hands over the uneven ground again and again, almost in disbelief at the brush of moss, at the press of a twig against his fingers. Dirt burrowed in under his nails, the scent of cedar sharp in this damp hideaway, shrouded by thick trees. 

In the firelight, Johan's odd eyes, a mark of  _ something  _ new, could have been ignored, passed off as an effect of the live flame, but the chimes of the Crystal Beasts were silent, and their absence was getting to him, making that persistent, crawling feeling under his skin go crazy, scrambling for purchase and twisting his insides.

A direct question could let possibly-not-Johan know he was suspicious again, which could be extremely dangerous, not to mention foolish, and, chewing down on a green-capped mushrooms, he watched as Johan added more wood to the fire, red gathering on grooved bark and then spreading, as if to fill in the many gaps.

"Did you have to do the hazing ritual?"

Blinking, Johan regarded him from the other side of the fire, his fingers stained from the wild berries -- the red smears had darkened to purple, then to an almost black. "Hazing ritual? ...Oh, you mean the picture thing?"

If there was one subject Johan had skirted around during his ramblings, fueled until now with only nods and mono-syllable responses from Manjoume, it was anything to do with the world still waiting for them, a place of tangled connections. These mannerisms of Johan's could've been taught. His interests could've been overheard and passed onto a body double, but there were some small, inconsequential details that  _ only  _ the two of them would know. 

Or, the two of them and whoever had decided to possess Johan Andersen, and Manjoume picked at his teeth. The nuts weren't worth it, each bite leaving behind a layer of grit.

"If you transferred in late, you had to do it, no excuses. Or maybe those bastards were just messing with me, which is unforgivable."

"No, no. It's a long-standing tradition," Johan clarified, and he rested his hands on his knees, sitting cross-legged. Under the cloak, his clothes were different, the fabric dark, thick, and held together with metal clasps. "After all, what could be more important than rescuing the crew of the Nautilus?"

"I can think of several thousand things," Manjoume grumbled, and Johan's bell-like giggles rang out, a contrast with the looming dark and the flashes of gore, of a chest splayed open with its organs bursting out, stuck to the insides of his eyelids. Sometimes he saw Judai instead, clothed in white.

"Ah, I'm curious though. How'd you do it?"

"What, they never told you?"

Johan paused, tapping his chin. "Not that I can remember…”

'The Grand Rescue of the Crew of the Nautilus' was a hazing ritual enforced at North Academy with the same single-minded focus that its students did literally everything else, meaning that, even though Manjoume had conquered their ranks and claimed the top spot, he  _ still  _ had to go through the annoying,  _ pointless  _ task of stealing a one-by-two-meter movie poster of a  _ 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea  _ adaptation from Chancellor Ichinose’s office. The task had, as Manjoume had quickly discovered, two immediate problems -- one, the office in question was in an underground bunker equipped with an electric lock for some unknown and probably  _ moronic  _ reason; and two, just from a photograph of his target, Manjoume had determined that the gaudy frame would add several kilograms to the whole mess of a task, and lifting things heavier than a trading card was for not-Manjoume people.

Failure meant that the students of North Academy would have thrown him into the ocean and, provided that he was able to haul himself back  _ out  _ again, then force-fed him a smoothie of sardines, chocolate, and hot curry paste. 

The climate had probably warped their brains. 

"I told the chancellor to hand the thing over or I'd report him to the education board for safety violations. He even carried it to the main hall for me. Like, have you  _ seen  _ the inside of that submarine? It’s disgusting."

Johan's neat pile of berries went everywhere, a projectile-like one smacking Manjoume's lapel and adding a nice, new stain, which he definitely needed more of it. Definitely. Johan's sputtering took awhile to form actual words, his hands cycling through various gestures. 

"Wow, I...can see how that would work. Still, I don't have the right, ah,  _ aura  _ to get away with it. You, absolutely."

"What kind of aura is that?"

"Ahhhh… Maybe...we should change the subject…"

"Johan."

"Well, it's a 'rich boy' aura, like you're looking down on whoever you're talking to. N-Not that you're always like that, or… I should probably stop," Johan concluded, and he nodded sharply before shoving more berries into his mouth. Manjoume rolled his eyes. 

"Look, I went through four years at an elite boarding school, so I  _ should  _ give off that impression, otherwise all of it really was a waste of both time and money."

"Whatever you say," Johan said with an impish grin, and then he continued in a conspiratorial tone, hushed as if the nearest wall was a partition and Chronos-sensei was walking behind it, checking for students breaking their curfew. "Do you want to hear my strategy? Not to brag, but it was pretty good."

"What, did you go up to the chancellor and ask nicely?"

"Not...exactly."

"Well, now I'm interested. Doesn't stealing set a bad example for all the birdies and kitty cats out there?"

"Not if they're the ones helping me out," Johan explained, a different glint behind his eyes, and the fire was burning down, unchecked. "I put the cards for Sapphire Pegasus and Cobalt Eagle in a classroom with a clear view of the bunker's entrance, so they could determine what the passcode was, and the rest of the Crystal Beasts helped me make a list of his daily routine, so we could figure out a route from his bunker to the main hall that wouldn't get us caught. On the day of the operation, I had the Crystal Beasts set up a communication relay along the points of the chancellor's route, and they could warn me if anything went wrong. Twenty minutes later, and we had officially rescued the crew of the Nautilus."

Effective. Fool-proof. Even a bit  _ stylish _ , and Manjoume snorted. "Huh, guess I've been underestimating your tactical side, Johan."

"Hmmm… High praise, coming from you," Johan said with another giggle, and then he continued. "Even when I was a kid, I used to chase down people who were cruel to duel spirits. I've picked up a few techniques like that over the years, and, honestly, it was nice to apply them to a contest. No one risked getting hurt. Well, except me. I almost had to drink that thing, so…"

Manjoume stared into the fire, the flames brittle and small. Using wet fuel had been unavoidable after a point, the remaining dry pieces rationed for a later fire, and the pieces from thin, malleable saplings curled in on themselves, green showing through and then splitting with red, tendrils of smoke rising with a low hiss. From deeper within the cave, there had to be a gap or a second entrance, as the wind running over them pushed the smoke outside, smothered by the heavy branches of close-growing trees, evergreens.

"I heard about your Reject Well duel from Judai. Oh, and about how you took in the Dark Scorpions too."

"Judai talks too much. It's a pain," Manjoume said, just to be difficult. A leaf burned, its colours gone.

"We have a lot in common, actually."

"We're stuck in a cave. That's one thing."

"That's...not what I meant," Johan added quickly, and Manjoume wanted the conversation to stop. Badly. 

He stood up and glared at the nearest object, a cloth supply bag. He counted the clumsy stitches, the arrows and blades bundled together, and-

He needed to leave. 

One-hundred percent, he needed to leave, and glancing over his shoulder just confirmed why, because that figure poking a stick at the dying fire wasn't Johan. The empty space over his shoulder should have been filled with red and blue, meaning that the new orange really was a warning, the mark of a deeper poison.

If Ruby Carbuncle had been taken, Johan Andersen would  _ never  _ have smiled like that, and there were no murmurs of that spirit  _ anywhere _ \-- a void over him, cold and empty. Even if Johan’s bonds with the Crystal Beasts had changed, he would  _ never  _ have accepted silencing Ruby, and any existence without her at his side, purring against his jawline as her jeweled tail swayed, would have hurt him, too much to hold in and mask.

This was the mask, the causal way Johan leaned back on his hands, unphased as the fire sent up sparks, more green saplings curling in on themselves before they burned away. 

The darkness would give him cover from the patrolling guards, and, cringing as he stepped away from the opened supply bag, Manjoume let his nails open that wound again, picking at the scabs over his forehead until the flakes broke apart. It needed to look convincing, like an accident, a nervous tic gone too far, and he suddenly dropped his hand and swore. 

"Manjoume?"

"I'll spare you the gory details," Manjoume answered, and Johan made a surprised sound, a gasp. "Just stay there. I'll dunk my head in the river and then we can pretend like this whole mess never happened."

"Does it hurt?"

"No," he said, keeping his steps even and rolling one shoulder. "Just a bad habit. They don't have bandages in this shitty dimension, do they?"

“Haven’t found any yet… Are you sure it’s okay? I-”

“Don’t let that fire go out. Otherwise, I’ll be pissed off,” Manjoume muttered back, trudging through the tall, damp grass, sparked with the orange that spilled from the cave, and ahead was the river, a band of black that cut the swathes of green and grey, small stones gathered by the bank. But Manjoume never made it there, because a hand had grabbed his wrist, the strength deceptive until he had tried to pull away. The fingers were set in place, like a metal cuff. 

A voice flowed from Johan’s mouth, hot on the shell of his ear, and it made its way into his head, thick like vanilla syrup and sliding deeper with every artificial syllable, taunting and sweet and  _ not  _ letting any of Johan through, not anymore. 

“Ah, but we were having so much fun… Did I offend you somehow? Hmm? Tell me, my dear, where did I go wrong?”

“Back off,” he spat out through gritted teeth, flexing his free hand until the stolen knife hidden in his sleeve dropped down, his fingers tightening around the hilt, and Yubel just laughed, high-pitched and piercing like a wolf’s howl, when he adjusted the visible blade. One move with Johan’s body, and it clattered to the ground, lost in the maze of their shadows when Yubel forced him down, Johan’s knees bracketing his hips while their fingers locked, a crushing, violent contact that grinded his knuckles together, that threatened to split bone and,  _ damn it,  _ damn it, damn it-

“Now, now… I really am curious. You’ll be kind enough to answer me, won’t you?” When he opened his eyes again, the orange was alive, writhing and brighter than before, and Johan’s features had sharpened into a demon’s expectant grin, widening more and more as Johan’s grip tightened. A frenzied light burned. “Does it hurt? It should hurt. Please, tell me.”

It could only be Yubel -- the duel spirit that had possessed Martin, that had thrown their school lives into chaos and changed  _ everything _ . They were the monster Johan Andersen had tried to contain.

“Fuck off,” was all he managed at first, and he had to break the contact. He tried, but there was only more laughter, echoing inside his skull. “Sorry to disappoint, but we’ll have to chat later. Unlike  _ you _ , I have responsibilities that I can’t push aside. So, get  _ off  _ of me, and-”

With a child-like chirp, Yubel leaned closer, Johan’s face still stretched into that ravenous grin, baring his teeth. “Ah, after all I’ve done for you, you shouldn’t be so cruel, Manjoume Jun. Why, without me, you wouldn’t have seen Judai again. A rival’s parting, I imagine it was so  _ hard  _ for you, although, honestly,” they added, blinking quickly, Johan’s pupils wide and burrowing into the orange, “I’m surprised you made it out of that castle alive. Congratulations.”

It was a bitter taunt, and Manjoume turned away, grass and stones crowding his vision. The knife was gone. “As if I care what  _ you  _ think.”

“Stubborn boy… Although- Ah,  _ I  _ see. You noticed the missing duel spirits,” Yubel declared, shaking their joined hands a little, a parody of a gesture Johan would share with Judai. “Those little Ojamas of yours are so cute. Maybe I’ll return them to you, if you beg for me.”

“Good luck with that. Those loudmouths just give me headaches, so, go ahead. Keep them.”

-and then the grasp was gone, his hands just empty claws, and Manjoume went to shove at Johan, only to be stopped by a familiar blade, dancing over his chest, picking at the bloodstains and puncturing their loose shapes, metal grazing his skin. Yubel’s chuckles repeated over and over, Johan’s other hand pushing back his wayward bangs and then framing half of the ever-present smirk with crooked fingers. 

“It’s hard to hold back,” Yubel admitted with a pointed tap of the knife over his collarbone, the next falling below it, and he had no counter to this, the mastermind keeping their control. “I can only imagine what you felt from the Supreme King’s presence, how helplessly you watched your friend hurt you over and over again. Ah, and  _ this _ is such a wonderful scar, like a tally mark from being opened over and over again, tearing into you more and more each time.” A shiver, from the body over his own, and Manjoume couldn’t move, watching with wide, unblinking eyes as the knife dipped over his heart. “I’ve waited so long, and soon I’ll be the one to experience those things, those precious moments with my beloved. All of this pain is necessary, as he deserves the best I can offer him. A perfect symphony, just for the two of us.”

Yubel had quickly confirmed two things for Manjoume, which was nice of them. Minus the kidnapping, the knife, and about ten-thousand other things.

One, Yubel had revived him specifically to screw with Judai’s head.

Two, Yubel was the worst possible mix of intelligent and insane, and they had to be stopped, at any cost.

Those eyes were on his own, the focus renewed. The blade retracted, and Manjoume did not move.

“But, there’s a slight problem. If you’re alive, and Judai  _ knows  _ you’re alive, then he won’t suffer at all. I can’t have that. I really, really can’t allow that,” Yubel purred, and the weird situation -- Johan Andersen straddling him while wearing a tight, belted outfit and flipping a knife -- became exponentially  _ worse  _ when Yubel suddenly leaned down and rested their chin on his chest, pouting as they continued to flip the knife. “Stubborn boy,” they repeated, a second voice rippling under their feminine one, like the shadow of another monster. “It’s been fun, and yet I can’t afford to make such a foolish mistake.”

They dropped the knife, and then Johan’s arm was gone, replaced by a network of slick scales and rough skin, the claws yellowed and long, the muscles tensed. 

Manjoume Jun had been brainwashed twice. With the Society of Light, it was as if his entire self had been ripped apart, shredded down into nothing by the sheer power of that vast, burning light, peeling back all his layers and bleaching them clean. With the duel ghoul fiasco, being brainwashed had been humiliating and aggravating and  _ stupid _ , but it hadn’t hurt, like going to sleep, like taking a strong anesthesia. If he had the chance to pick a repeat experience, it would’ve been the latter, never the former. Ideally, he would’ve never lost his mind again. 

Too fucking bad.

The first pulse of Yubel’s mind against his was like sandpaper across his skin, and the second was like rows of small, sharp teeth, and then they were in, tearing through  _ everything _ , and then it stopped, the invader  _ gone _ and leaving him panting on the ground -- the bowl of starlight overhead spinning and spinning, warping all the constellations together. 

“Hmmm… I see, I see,” Yubel began, plucking at Johan’s voice, and Manjoume flinched at the touch to his face, Johan’s fingers shorter than Judai’s, softer. He hated that he could compare them.  _ None _ of this should have happened, but it had, and it wasn’t stopping, the back of Johan’s nails fluttering over his torn-open scar, gentle as they rounded the wound. “You’ll be good and stay here until I get back, won’t you? He has a war meeting tonight, and I imagine I can cave-in that part of the dungeons before the closing remarks. Throw in a body double, and problem solved, right?”

“You’re sick,” Manjoume said, deflated and boneless, and Yubel, their giggles erratic like a struck windchime, placed their draconic palm on his forehead again. The spiked gauntlet cut into that view of the night sky, halving the comet that flew through it, unmoved by the chaos below.

“Pleasant dreams, my dear.”

\---

Wind, rasping through the grass, his limp arms dragging behind him, and-

\---

_ “Hey, if something terrible ever happens to Judai, we should be there at his side-” _

_ “Tenjouin-kun, if you’re not there to protect that loudmouth from his own stupidity, then I will. I’ll get even with him-” _

\---

_ “Wait. If you’re going, I’m also going.” _

_ The dimensional gate rippled in the clearing ahead, glimmers of pale gold against the night sky, and Judai finally turned around, his expression set in a scowl, hard angles below his narrowed eyes. “This is my problem,” he shouted. “I don’t want anyone else to be involved.” _

_ -and apparently Manjoume had grabbed him, seeing red. “What was that?” _

_ -and apparently Jim had stopped his punch, because, fuck,  _ fuck _ , Judai could be impossible, not moving against the hold at all, as if he had been waiting for the hit.  _

_ “Chancellor Samejima told us about Yubel,” Jim said, and Judai sagged even further, a lost hero.  _

_ It hurt. _

\---

When his eyes opened again, morning light streamed across the floor of the cave, more supplies in a neat stack by the far wall, and not-Johan, cross-legged, was picking at the stitches on a dull yellow cloak, humming an unknown melody. Yubel’s own smirk contorted Johan’s features, stuck there like an old sticker that had fused with the material below it.

Clearly there was no justice in the universe.

Sitting up, the cloak that had been spread over him slipped down, and Manjoume made a point of balling it up and then throwing it at the low fire, Yubel arching a thin eyebrow in judgement. 

“Charming as always,” they commented, biting and acidic before switching to Johan’s voice. “You’ll be pleased to hear that my little operation was a success. I even stayed for the aftermath, the Supreme King standing over the rubble, examining the carnage himself… Honestly, even if he recognized the lie, he didn’t show it, and I’m sure a sweetheart like Judai wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between-”

“Don’t you have anything  _ better  _ to do?” Manjoume snapped, which, naturally, made Yubel burst out into tiny, tiny giggles, because, naturally, being trapped in a capsule and shot into outer space had  _ ruined  _ with their sense of humor. The results were not amusing at all, and he sighed when they flopped next to him. “Keep going like this, and I’ll make you shut up.”

“I’d like to see you try,” Yubel replied, tongue flashing with each slow, pronounced syllable, and Manjoume was officially over this -- this entire situation, this shitty  _ dimension  _ full of odd-eyed doppelgangers.

Missing every social cue imaginable, Yubel took his icy silence as an invitation to keep going, pumping more fuel into this trainwreck of a conversation, unsatisfied by anything less than a full-on explosion. 

“The darkness in your heart is quite remarkable, Manjoume Jun. Those ripples of anger come from a twisted source, a core of self-doubt that you’ll never,  _ never  _ be able to reach and pluck out. The anguish you feel from being here, from watching  _ him _ , is truly authentic, and your love for Ju-”

“Fuck off.”

“Come on. There’s no need to deny it!” Yubel chirped, and Manjoume’s next escape attempt was just as successful as the last one, Yubel’s kick taking out his legs and leaving him with just that ceiling again, the dark mineral veined with silver. Clumps of green clung to shallow grooves. 

Home was Duel Academia, the water-stained walls of Slifer Red plastered with posters that his friends had put up, because he actually had those now. 

“Ah, denial… Don’t worry. While I am the jealous type, I also have a special reverence for those who can appreciate my beloved, as long as they understand who he’s  _ really  _ meant to be with. By killing you twice, I’ve uprooted you from his heart, and that’s caused him pain. But, please, don’t worry. I’ll be there for him. I’ll trace all of those beautiful scars.”

“He’s never going to accept that. Judai will never accept you.”

“Cruel… What a  _ cruel  _ thing to say,” Yubel taunted, and there was a vibrating chord under Johan’s voice, an oscillating whine. “Maybe you’re also the jealous type. Actually, by looking at your memories, I can confirm how you-”

“What  _ exactly  _ is your goal here? I get that you’re repulsive, but  _ some  _ demon here has to be willing to put up with your constant,  _ constant  _ talking. You’re like a pushy tv host, interviewing someone who clearly doesn’t care at all. I’d feel sorry for your pathetic state if you weren’t also, you know, the one responsible for all of this shit.”

“But only the three of us are deeply in love with Judai,” Yubel answered, and when Manjoume did nothing, they shoved Johan’s fluffy blue-haired head into his line of sight, that face  _ beaming _ . “Oh? No flicker of surprise? No anguished yell?”

“Leave me alone.”

“Oh, Manjoume… So sad…” 

“You’re acting like this  _ isn’t  _ your fault.”

“How about a trade?” Yubel said next, and Johan’s chin was on his chest again, the threat implicit. And maybe he had finally stopped caring at all, about anything. About everything. Anything he built up would only crash down again, the effort all a waste. Yubel was the rain that sank through his house of cards, and they were the wind that scattered the wet remnants. 

Home was so distant. That island was somewhere else.

“...Ah, you’re fading. But, hey, I promise this will cheer you up, okay?”

“What do you want?”

Johan deserved to have Ruby at his side. Johan deserved nothing like this -- a puppet jerked around, a hollow shell. 

“I’ll clear up some misconceptions that you seem to have. In exchange, you’ll describe your encounters with the Supreme King for me, since retrieving those pure emotions from another’s memories can be an, ahh,  _ involved  _ process, and I'd rather not to strain you too much, my dear.”

Like he had a choice at all, and Yubel, not-Johan, settled on top of him, a heavy weight. Like a sack of flour, and Manjoume kept his unblinking stare on the rock overheard. Maybe it would fall down and crush him.

“The Supreme King is a manifestation of Judai’s own desires, a creation of his aching heart. They cannot be separated, as they never  _ were  _ separated. Judai’s desire for victory has always carried with it a flicker of the Gentle Darkness, and that is a power held only by the Supreme King. So, you see, the situation isn’t that simple,” Yubel concluded, drawing out the words with obvious ease, and Manjoume said nothing. Twisted in there could be more lies. Yubel’s influence could spread like a pathogen. It caused disease, and it had killed things. “In contrast, my possession of sweet,  _ wonderful  _ Johan Andersen is a little different. It’s more of a fusion, our desires and fears colliding, but my will is the dominant one by far, 95% to 5%. To be honest, I enjoy the places where we meld together, as I can sense those traces of Judai’s presence, of being  _ there  _ with him.”

“Pathetic.”

“‘Devoted’ is more accurate,” Yubel chided, tapping his chest. No, that ceiling wasn’t coming down. What a shame. “Now, it’s your turn. A deal is a deal!”

“It was humiliating,” he said, and then there was nothing. A silence. 

A wet drop fell from the rock above, and the impact made a faint noise. Drip.

Rasping, Yubel leaned closer, and their noses almost brushed, the longest strands of Johan’s hair on his face, tracking strange, erratic shapes on his skin. They inhaled quickly, Johan’s straight white teeth distorted by inhuman incisors, by unfitting features carved out on another’s flesh. 

“Go on,” was the order, pitiful but real. 

“Dying was less humiliating than that.”

“Go  _ on _ ,” was the order repeated, and one eye had flickered green, deeper than Johan’s own. 

Everything rotated, the scenery and its objects now attached to some morbid carousel that was going too fast, and Manjoume was standing again, dragging Johan’s body up with him by the collar. Transfixed, with parted lips, Yubel let him, and he just kept shouting, just kept going even though he was  _ gone _ , reduced to absolutely  _ nothing  _ but a collection of bones and blood and whatever else was left inside him, the broken outside pasted together into the fractured image of Manjoume Jun. His head was empty, the inside burned away. 

Anger, bursting inside him. Like shrapnel, it tore.

Beneath the anger was despair, cold and hard and unforgiving. Fighting it was like clawing at concrete and expecting to break through. He did not break through.

“What do you want me to say? That it was the worst thing that’s ever happened to me? That I hated every second I had to be there, all because of a coward like you? That I would’ve done  _ anything  _ to get out of that fucking cell? Like, come on. Just tell me. I’m sick of this. Make it stop.”

Slowly, like a cautious animal, Yubel straightened.

Behind their eyes was something he did not want to understand. 

“And yet you would go back there, for Judai’s sake.”

“You say that like it’s a secret.”

“Judai really is the greatest, the pinnacle of all others,” Yubel said, and he listened. He stood in place, and he listened to the poison, taking it in. Because, sure, why not? “He’s capable of hurting those he cares about so deeply. He seizes the chances as they present themselves, and he draws out the most exquisite pain. How could I love anyone else? Oh, and, naturally, how could  _ you  _ love anyone e-?”

Yubel continued, but he had stopped listening. Right. There was a good reason to tune this out.

But then Yubel was in his head again, the heavy slam of their palm against his forehead forming the conduit, and their thoughts were pouring in, frantic chants of the same words in two voices, three voices, and then  _ more  _ as the echoes crowded in, building off each other because, no, this wasn’t going to stop. My dear, you still have a practical use for me. It’s important to collect energy, otherwise our grand reunion will be lacking, and I can’t have that, can I? But you understand, right? 

If I peel back your layers, your rotten core reveals itself. Such a frustrating attitude. Foolish, bitter, and pointless. Of course I had to rip your constricting roots out of Judai’s heart. Of course I had to protect him from someone so unworthy of him, a weed that spreads and spreads. Know that Judai’s heart is already beating in time with my own. 

Know that even the fall of the comet will mean nothing. Know that all of this is inevitable, and I will be the one. I will be the one. I will join with him and protect him. Forever. I will bleed this universe of everything but him and his one touch. I will

I will use you, one last time.

\---

_ “Hey, if-” _

\---

_ “Stay away from me.” _

_ A cut of gold, curved and narrow under dark eyelashes. “Why would I do that?” _

\---


	7. Connected

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canon notes: SO, this fic is currently trying (???) to link back up with episodes 153 and 156, in which Manjoume has some dialogue about Yubel’s master plan. 
> 
> ....................................let's go

\---

_ “This is a guaranteed disaster,” Manjoume said, and when Judai whipped around, a fishing rod almost smacked him across the face. In his right hand, Judai clutched a tacklebox, a bold ‘PROPERTY OF RA YELLOW’ sticker spread uselessly across the bottom, and it was likely that a combination of the fishing rod, held with the other hand, and the two fishing nets, shoved under that same arm, stopped Judai from tackling him, grabbing him, or doing any  _ other  _ stupid, too-close move. After all, the icon of Slifer Red had the personal control and restraint of a puppy set loose in the toy aisle of a pet store, and he had a bad habit of latching onto the gracious, elegant person of Manjoume Thunder and shaking him like a plastic ball. _

_ “Well, now that you’ve come out of hiding, I can officially welcome you to the crew, Lieutenant Thunder,” was Judai’s quick response, his hat set at an odd angle, the brim pushed back. _

_ His hat, as in Manjoume’s hat. _

_ The front had ‘MASTER SCAVENGER’ in plain white font. _

_ “Why would I join the ‘crew’ of a confirmed  _ thief _?” Manjoume spat back, and before he could reclaim his property, Judai, shaggy head and all, had started towards the boat again -- the flying bridge transitioning to a front tinted window that gradually sloped down to meet the deck. It was owned by a member of their school’s support staff, and Manjoume had far, far too many questions. _

_ Which is why he followed Judai. Plus, the hat. _

_ His hat. _

_ “Hmm… My crew and I have comandered this vessel,” Judai said next, taking long strides. “So, guess you could say it’s a pirate ship, which fits someone like me, right?” _

_ “What exactly do you mean by ‘comandered’?” _

_ No pause. No hesitation, and Manjoume should’ve guessed the answer. It became obvious when Judai threw a smirk at him. _

_ “Captain Yuki Judai has obtained ownership this vessel for the rest of the day, following a duel, naturally.” _

_ “Sure, but why did someone responsible like  _ _ Ishimine-san agree to those terms?” _

_ “Uhh…” A guilty cringe, and Judai spun around. “I sort of promised to stop taking things from the Ra Yellow storeroom if she won, so…” _

_ Only Judai could convince an upstanding member of Duel Academia to duel away their own boat, and Manjoume picked at his next question, finally matching the strides Judai made. The equipment creaked and bounced. His expression was behind the overlapping green grids of the nets, their shadows swaying. _

_ “Judai, do you have  _ any  _ idea how expensive that yacht is? It’s at least fourteen meters, probably with two engines, and- You really don’t get the implications of this, do you?!” _

_ “See, this is why I need you on the crew,” Judai answered, which wasn’t an answer at all, and when they stopped at the edge of the harbour, Johan poked his head out of the cabin and waved, Ruby meowing her own greeting. “The lieutenant can support the captain with, ah, technical assistance.” _

_ “Isn’t that part of why I’m here?” Edo Phoenix drawled. Edo Phoenix, who was decidedly  _ not  _ at the Pro League and standing behind them with his arms crossed. Minus the grey suit, he looked like less of an asshole than usual, but that’s not what Manjoume said.  _

_ “What’s with the shorts?” _

_ “Believe it or not, my suit isn’t fused to my body,” Edo began with that usual condescension, and he took a pointed step onto the boat, the dramatic sigh completely unnecessary. “Although, your case is an unfortunate one. Is that coat cursed? How tragic.” _

_ Manjoume usually associated his throw-the-annoying-person-into-the-water urge with the twin terrors of Judai and Johan, but, hey, why not include Edo? Why not see if that over-styled prick could  _ float _? But, before Manjoume could get within a meter of the famous hero user, the less-famous-but-more-grabby hero user jumped in front of him, Judai’s smile apologetic. “Hey, hey, don’t make me demote you two....” _

_ “Hm. I imagine it’s hard for someone like Thunder to sink any lower,” Edo said, and Manjoume snorted at the bad line. And maybe he put a few more details into his imagined throwing-Edo-off-the-boat scenario. “I’m all set, by the way. Unless there are any other last-minute crew additions, we should head out” _

_ “Right! So, you’re coming with us….?” _

_ Judai was asking him. Judai, with the fluorescent-blue ocean waves lapping against the shoreline, visible over his shoulder. Everything smelled of salt, and the wind ran through the empty spaces between them, because there were spaces like that. Because Manjoume, his suddenly throat tight and his mind racing, trying to pull in every last detail and hold them all still, could not find the words at all.  _

_ And maybe he was terrified. _

_ Maybe he would do anything to keep that covered up, like hiding an ugly, raw sketch with layer upon layer of dark paint, blotting out the tentative lines that, together, made up the truth.  _

_ Maybe he had been avoiding Judai all week, storming away at the sight of his red jacket and the mumbles of Winged Kuriboh, because that truth was just too obvious now, its colours mixed in with that ever-present, vibrant jealousy. _

_ “Why would I do that?” _

_ “Uh… Because it’s fun? And we don’t have classes today?” _

_ Manjoume smacked himself on the forehead. Sure, anyone with a crush on a fool like Yuki Judai deserved to suffer, but this?  _ This  _ was too much. _

_ “Judai. We have classes today. This is our  _ lunch  _ break.” _

_ “...But what about the morning classes?” _

_ “We had those already.” _

_ “...Oh.” _

_ "And what are  _ your  _ excuses?" Manjoume shouted after Johan had swung up the ladder rungs to join Edo at the wheel, and Johan was first, that toothpaste-commercial smile in place.  _

_ “I get lost all the time, so I’m sure everyone will understand,” Johan said, Ruby trilling in agreement. Which wasn’t an actual excuse, at all.  _

_ Then again, why would Johan Andersen, nordic pretty-boy and tournament-winning prodigy, leave Yuki Judai? And that thought twisted something in Manjoume’s chest, a sensation he should’ve been numb to by now, but he wasn’t. Not even close. _

_ Urgh. _

_ “I flew in for a photo-op with the chancellor and some of the staff,” Edo stated. “Plus, I was thinking of buying a model in this line. I suppose the stars just aligned.” _

_ “Huh. Weird that Sho’s not here, trying to crash your little getaway,” Manjoume added, and he watched Judai make the transition from the concrete edge of the wharf to the boat, his smile easy and wide.  _

_ “Ah, well… M-Maybe I, uh, don’t have the best track record with boats… Or, at least, that’s what Sho thinks.” Judai laid the equipment down, adding to the scattered pile. More ‘RA YELLOW’ stickers were visible. “I did end up trashing that power boat I stole from Anacis, and… I guess there was that power boat I took to get off Academia Island, right before I ended up meeting the Neo Spacians. It...floated back in pretty rough shape too, haha…” _

_ “Why do you sound proud of that?” Manjoume snapped, and Judai, laughing, faced him again, a different angle to his smile. _

_ “Although, when I mentioned that Lieutenant Thunder could be part of my crew, that’s what really set Sho off. After all, didn’t you get into a wreck outside North Academy? It’s a good thing I’m not superstitious.” _

_ Twitching, Manjoume went for his hat again, and Judai spun out of the way, dodging the rods and boxes and jackets and finally settling against the railing, his eyes brighter than before. It wasn’t fair. _

_ “Sho’s biased, especially when Crewman  _ Phoenix  _ let his yacht burn down in the harbour last month. Or did everyone forget  _ that _?” _

_ “Hmmm… Hey, Crewman Phoenix?” _

_ “Don’t call me that,” Edo grumbled, and Johan’s chime-like laugh carried over the wind and the sudden rumble of the engines, which made Manjoume realize that, one, he was now on the boat and, two, Judai had pulled the final moor line in, disconnecting them from the bollard. _

_ “Take us out. Maximum speed!” _

_ “That’s not how it works,” Edo added, but he  _ did  _ move them forward, and the hysterical shrieking of the Ojamas drowned out the low thunk of Manjoume smacking his forehead again, followed by a pained groan.  _

_ “Mutiny. This captain is a total fraud,” he mumbled, not just to himself, and Judai snorted and pushed off the railing. Under his jacket was an off-white t-shirt, the loose fabric rippling with the strong wind, and around them were those rolling blue waves, the harbour becoming a vague, grey structure on the edge of a shrinking island.  _

_ “You’re not going to cause trouble for me, are you?” Judai asked, a stupid question, and then his hand was on Manjoume’s shoulder, their eyes meeting for a beat. “But, hey, I get why you’d want to run off. I am a master fisherman, and such genius can be intimidating, right?” _

_ “You’re the worst,” was a bad comeback. Abysmally bad.  _

_ And yet it made Judai look at him for half a second longer, and Judai was the person that made him feel hollow, his chest caving in on itself. His heart was fast. _

_ Somehow, following the cheers from Johan, he ended up on the bow, his coat whipping out behind him and his bangs cutting into the surrounding blue, a colour that seemed to stretch out forever, and it writhed and moved in a smooth, rhythmic way, the opposite of the harsh shouts from Edo and the chaotic, sudden laughter from the other two, both clustered together. Johan’s arm had settled around Judai. _

\---

_ What Edo found was a small cove between two chains of smaller islands, and, staring hard at the instruments, he expertly angled boat to the mouth of it. “According to the guidebook, there should be bass in the area, but I’m not seeing much of anything.” _

_ Manjoume made a noncommitmental noise, and then he, decidedly not-listening to the Ojamas’ chatter, dropped over a lounge chair and flung an arm over his face. It shouldn’t have been possible for anything to be worse than those scraps of red fabric they passed off as clothing, but, hey, the universe hated him. It specialized in visual torture.  _

_ The Ojamas were wearing their swimsuits. Enough said. _

_ “If you’re going to throw up, try not to do it  _ in  _ the boat,” Edo said next, and Manjoume snorted. _

_ “Save the concern for someone who needs it.” _

_ Edo exhaled, and he must have stepped away from the controls, footsteps falling. The lapping waves were smaller here, their motions slight against the hull. “Some situation this is… It’s like the first meeting of the annual ‘Yuki Judai’s Rivals’ club. Although, I suppose that we’re missing Hell Kaiser.” _

_ “Hey, don’t ignore Tenjouin-kun, especially since she could take you out easily, Crewman Phoenix.” _

_ “That better not catch on,” Edo muttered, and then there was a too-long pause, broken only when Johan burst out laughing again and Judai joined in. The faint bumps and clangs were from them reorganizing the gear. _

_ “When those idiots spill that bait, I’m not helping. Not a chance.” _

_ “Huh. There’s something we agree on,” Edo observed, and when Manjoume cracked an eye open, the other duelist was staring out at the water, his hands in his pockets. “Well, there’s no easy way to start this, but I also have a message to pass along. It’s from Saiou.” _

_ “If he expects me to pay for that fortune-telling session, then, sorry, he should try to scam somebody else instead.” _

_ Scoffing, Edo continued. “I don’t know the details, but apparently that twisted light made him act harshly towards you. He wanted to apologize.” _

_ “...Okay?” _

_ If his goal was to rattle Edo, it wasn’t working. At all. Like running an attack-mode normal Ojama into a Destiny Hero. _

_ “Of course, I did warn him that an apology would only be mocked by someone like you, but…” A crack, so slight that Manjoume had almost missed it, and then Edo pivoted on one heel, a camera-ready smirk in place, his blue eyes set to ‘haughty’, as if those features were the plastic snap-on ones of an action figure. “Perhaps I should be thankful for that experience. It unlocked my ability to see duel spirits, for one thing, but seeing your Ojamas again reminds me that, well, that might not be a positive after all.” _

_ “A second thing we have in common,” Manjoume said, and he propped himself up on his elbows, black-feathered birds racing above them and spinning towards the steep rock banks. “Your friend, Saiou, used my rivalry with Judai against me. Well, apparently. He also wiped most of my memory, just to be even more of a jerk about it.” _

_ When Edo raised an eyebrow in interest, Manjoume realized what he had done, what he had just  _ admitted _ , and, cursing, he shot up and paced with long strides. And he dodged Edo’s stare, feigning an interest in the circling birds. Those two morons were eventually going to spill the bait and maybe even be dive-bombed in the progress, which would be entertaining.  _

_ Although, when he leaned over to where Judai and Johan were huddled on the deck, the gear a mess around them, both of Judai’s hands were on Johan’s bicep, the shirt sleeve pushed up, and Judai was loudly saying something that Manjoume decided to block out, like running a permanent marker over a penciled-in comment. _

_ Fuck everything. _

_ “So, about this…’rivalry’...” _

_ Especially Edo Phoenix. _

_ “I’m going to throw you overboard if you finish that sentence.” _

_ “I mean, you can  _ try _ …” _

_ Urgh. _

_ “Just wipe that fucking look off your face. I’m your upperclassman, in case you forgot. Show some respect.” _

_ “Hmmm… Sorry, a request like that is too much,” Edo said next, and, shrugging, he went down the ladder and strode over to Judai and Johan, easily like it was nothing. More laughter followed, and Manjoume made a point of sitting down again, even if his turtleneck was unbearably hot in the exposed sun, even though wearing his jacket upped the dial to ‘sweltering’, and even though avoiding Judai with only a few meters of composite fiberglass between them was, well, pathetic.  _

_ It was pathetic. _

_ Absolutely pathetic. _

\---

_ “...I-Is the boss asleep?” _

_ “Uhh… His eyes are closed, so…?” _

_ “H-How’s he going to judge our diving contest if his eyes are closed?!” _

_ As the Ojamas whispered above him, he stayed perfectly still, and the boat continued to bob and sway, the noises below growing louder. The steady hum of the motor was gone, and there, clear, was the unmistakable whirl of a fishing reel, followed by Edo complaining about the heat. When Ruby and Winged Kuriboh shot over the bridge, the Ojamas yelped and ran for cover. Manjoume cracked one eye open. _

_ Overhead was only blue. _

_ His brothers owned yachts easily twice the size of this one, the interiors sleek and modern without a single flaw, and staff would do all of the menial tasks, leaving Manjoume with nothing to do but lie down somewhere and count the flat thunks of the nearby footsteps. During the last trip, Shouji, a top-honours university student, had ranted to himself about anything and everything, and Chosaku, training to take over their father’s position, had been quiet and cagey. They had both ignored him. _

_ When he had been a little kid, barely tall enough to see the instrument panel at the helm, Chosaku had bothered to drag him over once and explain all the buttons and knobs, pristine and glowing silver in the summer’s harsh light. Some of the names and details and instructions he still remembered. Chosaku had tried to explain how an engine worked, fumbling through a pencil-drawn diagram on the back of a vacation brochure, and even though he hadn’t understood how or why the blocky shapes intersected, Manjoume had stayed silent and nodded along. Because he was the youngest.  _

_ Because that calm had always been a temporary thing, and, flinching, he sat up. He blinked quickly. _

_ It shouldn’t have been so quiet. _

_ Sighing, Manjoume hauled himself up to his full height, and then the Ojamas were on him, the horror of the swimsuits in full force. The nightmares would be intense. _

_ “Boss!” _

_ “Boss, can you-?” _

_ “No,” he snapped, and they deflated, Yellow in a pile on the floor, and he continued past them, swinging down the ladder. He immediately tripped over a fishing net, and Johan, barefoot and sitting against the cabin, a sliver of shade over him, perked up.  _

_ “Oh. Hey there, Lieutenant.” _

_ Manjoume made a vaguely threatening noise, but Johan just smiled and chirped another greeting, his sleeves rolled up over his biceps and his thin jogging pants over his knees. Johan’s v-neck was equally stupid.  _

_ “What, can’t take the heat? I thought students from North Academy were supposed to pride themselves on their endurance.” _

_ “I have my limits,” Johan said back to him, that cat spirit reappearing and making for her usual place -- that junction between Johan’s neck and shoulder. “Although, I see even you took your jacket off...” _

_ “That’s because there are no pillows on this floating disgrace of a yacht,” Manjoume answered, and Edo, who had been leaning towards Judai as he adjusted the totally-not-stolen-from-Ra-Yellow rod, snorted loudly. _

_ “Right. Only  _ you  _ could find something to complain about right now,” Edo observed, still set to ‘haughty’ and deserving a trip overboard more and more.  _

_ “Wait, weren’t you the one who, like, ten minutes ago was pointing out how there weren’t any jet skis or paddle boards or…?” _

_ Edo gave Johan a fixed look, and then he rolled his eyes. “True, but you shouldn’t make an observation like that in front of Thunder.” _

_ “Oh. Sorry, sorry.” _

_ “I hate you all,” was Manjoume’s announcement, and it was met with two identical shrugs. And the next whirl of Judai’s reel, followed by a helpless groan. _

_ “Ah, Edo… It’s doing the thing again.” _

_ “You have to be more specific.” _

_ “Isn’t the ‘master’ embarrassed by having to ask his  _ junior  _ for help?” Manjoume chided, and when he leaned his elbows against the railing, Judai glanced over, pouting. He still had Manjoume’s hat, and it was still at a stupid angle, the brim sticking up.  _

_ “No, because a captain should always acknowledge his highly skilled crew members, and Edo’s good at fixing things,” was Judai’s way of saving face, and Edo, after taking the rod and reeling the line in, began poking at the top of the reel, where it met the rod. With nothing left in his hands, Judai clasped the railing, peering over it and into the water swirling below. “Actually, the real shame would be coming back with nothing....” _

_ “Sounds like the pressure’s on,” Johan called out, and Judai shot him a knowing grin over his shoulder, the next push of the wind making his bangs wild, and- _

_ And, in slow motion, the hat tipped back, caught the wind, and promptly landed in the water. _

_ And immediately Judai shoved a solid two meters of distance between them, cowering behind the over-muscled eyesore that was Johan Andersen and his lilac shirt. Edo whistled, and before Manjoume could bolt across the deck and strangle either one of them, he said in a deadpan voice, “Try not to kill each other. The headlines would be awkward for my PR team.” _

_ “Y-Yeah, plus I can fix this. Easily,” Judai declared, and he stepped away from Johan, his hands outstretched. His hesitation dropped away suddenly, leaving behind a familiar, expectant expression. “I mean, what better opportunity could there be to show off my accuracy?” _

_ Naturally, Manjoume wanted to argue, but instead he just watched Judai stride across the deck, take the rod back from Edo, mess with the line, and then swing the rod back in a smooth arc. He did not hook the hat.  _

_ That took another three tries, and when Judai finally pulled the soaking mass out of the water, Manjoume had shot past ‘annoyance’ and ‘anger’ and was at the stage of ‘disinterest.’ “Whatever. Just keep it.” _

_ “Hey, that’s not like you,” Judai chided, and he eventually set it down with the rest of the equipment, including the rod. “I’m stopping here. Johan, you’re not a fan of this, are you?” _

_ Laughing a little, Johan glanced away. “Not...really, even without that part. I guess this hobby just doesn’t fit me, haha…” _

_ “Hmm. Still, you should at least try casting. It’s great.” And, simply, Judai took the hook off the line, dropped it into the open tackle box, and attached a small bobber, sans hook. With a flick of his wrist, it was in the water, and Manjoume’s eyebrows were at his hairline, the realization that  _ he  _ was the moron in this scenario setting in.  _

_ Judai had spent hours in the sun throwing a hookless line into the water, Johan behind him and wearing that same easy grin and probably making too many jokes about what he was going to reel in next. Edo would’ve caught on early, likely as soon as he came down to the deck, and, with his hands in his pockets again, he shook his head a little, a grin flashing. _

_ But. Two details were off. _

_ “What’re these nets for?” _

_ “Oh. Sometimes there’s cool stuff floating in the water. I found a whole tomato one time.” _

_ “Okay. And the...bait?” Manjoume asked, jabbing at the plastic container of lurching orange-red liquid and floating grey chunks, and Judai burst out laughing.  _

_ “That’s my lunch, actually.” _

_ “Believe me, I was surprised too,” Edo added, his arms crossed, and Judai rolled his eyes. _

_ “Everyone’s a critic.” _

\---

_ Eventually, with a bobber on the line and a convenient piece of driftwood for a target, Judai did teach Johan how to cast, the highlight being when Johan, pulling the rod back too quickly, came within millimeters of hitting Edo, which, naturally, Manjoume had found one-hundred-percent hilarious. Less hilarious had been when Edo, after cracking his knuckles, had put him in a chokehold and made some grand speech about destiny, heroes, and the nature of justice, a speech that did not end with Manjoume bobbing in the ocean and hating his life, but just simply hating his life. _

_ Edo was a massive jerk. _

_ No one could change his mind. _

_ “Not bad,” was Judai’s comment when Johan clipped the driftwood, earning him a muffled ‘meep’ from Ruby. “Hey, that’s still a compliment. Plus, the teacher should be the better one, right?” _

_ “Careful, you might get scratched,” Johan said, and his next cast was a perfect hit, the red-white bobber resting on the hunk of wood like a victory flag. Some hugging was involved, and Manjoume smiled to himself, staying quiet. _

_ The passing breeze carried that lingering smell of salt with it, pressing it further into the fibers of his clothes, and when Edo seized the rod with a cocky flip of his flat-grey hair, he missed the target completely. The taunts from Judai were just bad jokes that Edo answered with even worse jokes. That summer-like day slipped out of time.  _

_ As hero users, those two fought in a sparring session with wooden swords and glancing blows, and when Johan joined Manjoume in the shade, he, unthinking, nodded twice in greeting, the second for Ruby.  _

_ Johan beamed. _

_ “Hey. Where’d the Ojamas go?” _

_ “Away, hopefully,” Manjoume replied, shivering at the memory of those swimsuits that was now stamped into his brain matter. Great. Excellent. As if he needed more shit to deal with. “Maybe I can strand them on an island.” _

_ “Hmm… Something tells me they’d find a way back to you,” Johan said, a dreamy light behind his eyes, and he was, unfortunately, correct. Manjoume sagged against the cabin, and the great rematch of Judai v Edo had escalated, the sarcasm out in full force. “Also, thanks for coming out with us today.” _

_ “That’s not what happened. I was kidnapped.” _

_ “Oh. I...guess so,” Johan added, and then he chuckled, his stare set on Judai again. Up close, Johan was the opposite of himself, built with sloping muscles and moving in slow, confident ways, a magnetic energy behind it all. Of course someone like him would fit with Judai, the two pieces of a matching set. “All of this was Judai’s idea, and...I hesitated at first. My dad used to take me on these big fishing trips, and I don’t...handle blood well. Maybe you can see why that didn’t...work out.” _

_ “Yeah. Obviously.” _

_ “Still, I told Judai that I wanted to try to… Well, not paste  _ over  _ those bad memories, but instead do something to...change their ending. I mean, it turns out that just throwing the line into the water is pretty fun, especially if that’s all we’re doing.” Pausing, Johan threw his arms over his knees, and Manjoume had no script for this, the cheers and shouts mixing in with the background, with the drag of the ocean and the rasp of it against the hull. “You know, he cares about you a lot too.” _

_ Not happening. _

_ “Why...am I talking to you again?” Manjoume asked, and he flinched when Johan glanced over. _

_ “We should duel.” _

_ “...Right now?” _

_ “Uh, well… Maybe not right  _ now _ ,” Johan explained, reaching back to ruffle his already-messy hair, “but...soon.” _

_ “Tenjouin-kun and I are organizing a tournament, in case you forgot that,” Manjoume replied, and then Johan’s stare was back, different than before. This person had been called a strategic genius by Pegasus J. Crawford, and, flickering, he had changed for a split second, become oddly still. “If you luck out, you’ll be in the same bracket as your’s truly.” _

_ “You think you can knock me out?” _

_ “Naturally.” _

_ “Hmm… I plan on making it a challenge,” Johan replied, and  _ that tournament never happened, did it? My dear, maybe that’s for the best, since you have this terrible, terrible habit of overestimating yourself, and Johan, the stronger of you two, would have… Ah, what’s this?

Are you struggling again? Futile, but understandable. 

You should be afraid.

You should have regrets.

\---

Released, he staggered back, Johan’s right arm emerging from the maze of scales and thick, leather-like skin that had consumed it, that had devoured it with inhuman sinews and muscles and veins. Rain pelted the bare ground.

Manjoume’s clothes were soaked, one sleeve caked with mud, and the forest was gone, replaced by the jagged bones of a desolate mountain range that sank into a dark mist, like a churning swarm of insects, rising slowly over the remaining carcass. The final tendril of Yubel, a writhing line of purple flesh, sank into Johan, his body standing tall and rigid as a steel frame, as a monument left here in this unknowable, sprawling place.

Like a talon slipped underneath loosened stitches and pulling at where the threads intersected with skin, Yubel had ripped through his memories -- brutal and joyous, consuming everything they found and searching, clawing for more. 

“You loved him, and yet you said nothing. What a shame.”

Breathing in, he raised his chin.

“You’re testing my patience,” he heard himself say, and he stepped forward, leaving a print behind in the muck, a brief sign that he existed here -- transient, fleeting. The rain fell harder. “Worse than that, you’re pissing me off, acting like you understand people just because you can twist their thoughts. I’ve already revealed that you’re a total fraud, so drop the composed act. Inside, you’re probably a total wreck. Actually,” he added as the orange seized, phantom talons revealing themselves and clenching, “I know you are.”

“Insolent,” was spat through bared teeth.

“Come on. Why deny it? Aren’t we  _ friends _ ?”

No answer, and Johan’s face was in a snarl, dragging heavy, ugly shadows close to Yubel’s burning eyes. Like flames, their colours split and morphed, banded and shifted, curved. Finally, baring translucent fangs, Yubel laughed, and water poured over their wide, unblinking stare, the beaten-down mountainside a sludge underneath them. 

Manjoume kept going.

“The chancellor told us that the breath of space had warped your spirit, Yubel, and now that you’ve given me the, ah, ‘honour’ of your full attention, I can see the evidence first hand. Let’s drop the pretenses, shall we? I actually thought you were the mastermind here, but you’re just another pawn, a disposable piece in a bigger game. Fuck, it’s so humiliating that I let myself be trapped by  _ you _ . It’s like the whole Society of Light mess again, just with a different setting and a higher rating.”

Yubel shook Johan’s head. Drops parted over the knife-like edges of his wide, open mouth, and this new dimension filled with strong, rapid rain. More and more.

He kept going, thinking of a different place. Blue skies. Endless waves. A scene like that could be swallowed by the past, never to happen again. But it should happen again, right?

The words were clipped, and his throat hurt.

“I won’t pretend that I get the details of this whole darkness-versus-light, end-of-the-universe conflict. But it’s true. It has to be, and you’re...not a real being. You’re a distortion, like that fortune teller was. Like the other students were. Like-”

“Now, now. Don’t go  _ that  _ far,” Yubel sweetly chided. The grey of the rain pressed in.

“You’re out of control. Someone has to take you down.”

“Ah, but there’s no one left,” they rasped, and when he fell, it was because his knees had given out, exhaustion bearing down and begging, pleading for him to bow his head, but that was an impossible request. Their grin swam. It was poked through by those black spots, like mold, like badly-drawn starbursts. Like the flecks of pen ink that would mark Judai’s fingers, because he was hopeless at changing the cartridges. 

When Yubel leaned over him, the rain stopped hitting his face.

“Johan. Judai. Maybe Sho. I can go on, of course.” He felt himself smile, out of place and so, so wrong. “Damn. Johan, you still owe me a duel. Don’t disappoint me, since you are the-”

Yubel snarled, and then they dove closer, taking away more of the rain. Johan’s eyes had never been that wide before, as if his eyelids would split like torn paper. 

“Jealous boy, your ignorance is truly astounding. It runs through you. It cleaves into you and leaves you pathetic and weak. You're just a crawling, thorned vine that exists only to constrict and choke the life out of brighter things, of creatures far superior to you in every conceivable way. You would never survive what I have for his sake. A cold snap would kill you. A drought would kill you, but not me,  _ never  _ me. Scorch the earth, and my deep roots will remain. Bury me in ash, and I’ll push through it all. I will always grow again, and, rather than waste what little potential you have left, I will take from you now. So, suffer until the end, until the final light leaves your writhed remains and the earth consumes you. But know this one thing. Yuki Judai is mine. He was  _ always  _ mine.”

Lightning cracked across the sky, the clouds heavy and smothering and letting more of the rain through, and Yubel was forced Johan to move back. A rift of pure gold formed over him like a halo and then extending down. Before the thunder sounded, Johan was gone. Yubel was gone, and Manjoume -- alone and dizzy, his hands sinking into the muck -- tried to stand.

He failed.

\---

“ _ Hey, if something terrible ever happens to Judai, we should-” _

\---

_ “Why did this body want to move closer to you?” _

_ “Stop it. I don’t-” _

_ Alone, the pressure of the Supreme King could have crushed him, and Judai’s face had angled down towards his own, warm breath ghosting over his skin.  _

\---

The negatives.

Manjoume was face-down on the ground, and he had a headache, in addition to the thousand-something other problems that were all competing for the remainder of his limited attention, like, you know, the fact that Johan Andersen was both possessed and missing, Yuki Judai was kind-of possessed and sort-of missing (which was fucking  _ great _ ), and his other friends were hopefully-not-possessed and absolutely missing.

The positives.

He had woken up. 

He had enough energy to move, even though doing that was complete bullshit.

He was no longer on a mountain. A shallow, trickling river struggled over the stones that littered its base, and a thin circle of dried-out trees extended straight-up towards a grey sky, their bark smeared with dried sap, loosen chunks of it on the arid dirt below. No human being had ever described Manjoume as an ‘optimist’ before, and he usually left the ‘everything will be totally alright’ nonsense to air-heads like Judai, Sho, and Johan, which is why the positives stopped there. The negatives compounded. 

“Just give me a fucking break,” he muttered to himself, and, because he could, he kicked a stick into the water. 

At least Yubel hadn’t taken his coat, a constant in this mess of a situation. Burrowing his hands into his pockets, he traced the splitting seams and dried-on patches. From overuse, the fabric had become thin. Mud cracked on the sleeves and splintered on the trailing ends, abstract patterns clinging to them.

Snap.

A sound that cut through him, and with a wet stone locked in one hand, he whipped around, and the world tilted with the motion, slamming all the textures and colours into each other and leaving  _ him  _ to sort through the pieces. A strong blue. There was a lot of white, and nothing could ever make him forget the exact shade of Tenjouin Asuka’s blonde hair -- smooth and ashen and slipping over her bare shoulders. She was running towards him.

“Manjoume-kun! Finally, I was starting to...”

She stopped, and he just stared. Her soft features were caught in a look of shock, her arms tensed as if to reach out for him. Dirt clung to her pale fingers, and even though the lines of her uniform were perfect, faint scratches criss-crossed her legs and arms, matching bruises below her elbows. Dirt clung to the heels of her boots, and he shuddered, hating that she had to be in this place, had to  _ stand  _ here at all. Exhaustion couldn’t wring that part of him dead. 

Then again, Asuka, the real Asuka, could be-

“M-Manjoume-kun,” he heard her repeat, quieter the second time. “Are...you alright?”

“Tough question,” he said, and at his sarcasm, she had taken another step, one he had tracked. Her eyes were clear and beautiful, but-

_ But _ -

“Have you found any of the others? My brother, Kenzan-kun... Oh, and Ojama Black and Green are here too, but I lost track of them. This ability, it activates so suddenly.”

_ “No,”  _ was the truth, and yet he -- dazed, curling his fingers tighter against his palms -- did not say that.

Body doubles. Possessions. Magic artifacts. The variables were too many, the distance between them a necessary precaution. Not that he could  _ ever  _ outrun Tenjouin Asuka, but-

“Manjoume-kun?”

Concern changed her voice, lowering it.

"We were in Brron's arena together. That's...where we were supposed to die."

She nodded. "Yes, and our emotion marks seem to have vanished as well. Although, I haven't found Marufuji-kun yet. He may still be in the other dimension, with the Kaiser and the others."

"Right."

"Our friends are strong, and… We have to believe in that," she said plainly, and he remembered the glazed-over stare of a possessed Tenjouin Asuka, like a sheet of ice that distorted everything below it. Instead, this look was almost  _ normal _ , and-

Shit.

A new step, followed by another one, and Manjoume had to move back. 

The slick surface of the rock bored into his palm. 

"Did you fall? Here, I can-"

"It's fine. I'm fine."

She arms were lowered to her sides, dirt smudging her wrists, and then she straightened her shoulders. He almost caved. He wanted to.

"What happened to you?"

"That's not important."

"That's not…" A spark, and her long strides made the distance shrink even further, the rock a pathetic, useless thing in his shaking grasp. It had been pathetic and useless from the start, and yet he couldn't drop it. The signal from his brain to his fingers had been interrupted, cut like a wire. 

Numb, he watched as she gently pulled his fingers off of it and let it hit the ground. 

What a mess, himself at the center of it.

"I want you to trust me," he heard her say, even and composed. "Please, tell me what I can do to make that happen." 

"I trust Tenjouin Asuka."

No, the meaning wasn't concealed at all, ugly and bare like stark rust winding its way across a metal sheet, and Asuka paused for a horrible moment, the dread building in his chest turning corrosive, trying to make the few holes that would finally make him collapse, a structure without its supports. Broken, useless. Ready for demolition.

"Manjoume-kun," she began, meeting his stare and holding it, "I'll answer any questions you have for me. I'll prove myself to you."

Round three started, challengers Judai and Johan swapped out for the icon of Obelisk Blue, standing in front of him and waiting, her falcon eyes on his own. Her smooth hair slipped back over her bare shoulders. 

"Where are your cards?"

Irritation. Her nose scrunched up. "Ah, I wish I could answer that… It's the same for my brother and Kenzan-kun." Crossing her arms, she continued, bright against that dull backdrop of a decayed land. "Once we're back, there's nothing I want more than to finish that tournament we had planned. Being a duelist without a deck, it's...not exactly ideal, is it?"

He had one advantage here, a dim memory of being trapped with Asuka after losing to Amnael. Her emotions had reached his own, startling in how soft they were, like diluted watercolours over clean paper. Retrieving those memories felt like another betrayal, as if just  _ thinking  _ about her, suspended next to him in that strange void, would corrupt them. Maybe there was nothing that this world couldn't wreck -- a toxin, a miasma encroaching faster and faster. Rust. Decay.

What the fuck was wrong with him? He hit his forehead.

Okay.

Question two.

"How do you feel about me?"

"...Excuse me?"

“From when we first met until now, how...do you feel about me?”

Crossing her arms, she considered the question, and then she sighed. “Well, at first I respected you as a fellow member of Obelisk Blue, but your attitude was… Ah, I’m not sure this will...help right now, Manjoume-kun.”

“Go ahead. You can insult me if you want. It’s a rare chance, so use it.”

Her lips quirked up at the corners. “Although, you really changed when you returned from North Academy, and while you can still be self-centered, quick to anger, more impulsive than Judai even though you would deny that, and… I’m forgetting something. Let me see…”

“I probably shouldn’t have said that,” Manjoume muttered to himself, and the reward was her laughing, one pale hand curled by her chin.

“Hmm. But there’s also a lot to admire about Manjoume Thunder, isn’t there? It shows through in your dueling. The precision, the surprises, and, ah, the way you connect with the crowd.” She continued, even though he had already connected the pieces, because this could only be her, no one else. “During that scavenger hunt, I...really had a great time, and I think we fit together in an interesting way, sort of like rivals but also teammates. I hope it’s the same for you.”

“Do you remember our conversation about the Society of Light?”

No hesitation. She nodded. “Yes, of course. 

“You said something about Judai, about how we should try to...save him if we ever had the chance to.”

“Yes, I… I did say that.” Ethereal moonlight had fallen behind her, bringing new, colder tones into her blonde hair and tracing how it rose and fell with the low wind. "Thinking about how I acted, how I just...crumbled in place, is just...horrible. But, Manjoume-kun, it's alright. We can't let ourselves be trapped by what happened in the past, otherwise we can't help anyone."

"You don't understand. I…" This ripped through him, a phantom hand that reached in deep. "Tenjouin-kun, I'm sorry. I didn't…"

He went to bow, to drop down, but her hands were on his shoulders like two metal brackets, and the hug could have stopped his heart. Maybe it did. 

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ;__________;


	8. Revealed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dialogue: Some dialogue here is from season 1, episode 25.
> 
> Thanks for all the support! I really appreciate it. I love comments, and feel free to message me over at [@inserttt](https://twitter.com/inserttt).

**\---**

As they continued down the path of the river, the bank gradually widening and sloping up to a thicker, greener forest, Asuka explained the basic rules of the dimension. It cycled from one extreme to the next, hours of frigid cold leading into sweltering heat, with neutral points thrown in at random. The fresh water was always clean, and food always seemed to appear when they needed it most, but with each passing day, the fatigue would grow heavier. Nothing could displace it.

"Yubel did create the Duel Band system. This must be the new upgraded version, with all these features that no one asked for," Manjoume stated, and Asuka, pausing to push away a low-hanging branch, glanced back at him. The heat was settling in, thick like soup broth.

"Yes, and it affects everyone here," she answered. The landscape around them rolled out in crinkled peaks, as if all of this was a massive piece of construction paper that had been crumpled and then laid flat, the flaws making up the crags and hills, the mountains distant and looming.

The other mechanism was more of a problem. When the fatigue built too high, a person would fall asleep and then be transported somewhere else in the dimension, the destination seemingly random, and that action would split apart any groups that had formed. The isolation was cruel. 

He would lose her, and that thought lingered as Manjoume followed her away from the river and below the trees. The wet residue of that rock he had held remained on his palm, constant as his guilt. 

"Yubel, that bastard. They think they've won. They think they've trapped us with just _this._ "

"We should rest here," she said suddenly, and Manjoume stopped, taking in the thick shade from the overhanging canopies. The trickle of the river was audible still, and something like cicadas had started up, indicative of the coming heat. A thousand apologies had been left unsaid. 

"Tenjouin-kun, I…"

"Please, sit with me."

They both leaned against the trunk of the same tree, and Asuka wrapped her arms were around her knees, her gaze distant. 

"Within our group, we've decided on a rule. Whoever wakes up near the tower should head towards it. Most of this dimension is empty. Rocks. Caves. Forests like this. But," she explained, level and clear, "there is one exception -- a tower of light. My brother made it there before the exhaustion took over, and he believes it might be the source of Yubel's power drain. There's an odd energy surrounding it."

Weird supernatural things tended to be Yubel's fault, and Manjoume nodded. "Right. Find the tower, save the day."

"It might not be that simple, but we have no other leads. It's worth a shot."

He nodded again, and already sweat had beaded on the back of his neck, dripping wet and slick between his shoulder blades. Carefully, sore muscles threatening to lock, he removed his coat, piling it by his side, one hand on the fabric and running over the familiar tears and marks. He picked at a loose thread. 

"I have some information, in case any of us get out of here."

Their eyes met, and she straightened a little. "Anything could be helpful."

"Right…" Below, there was an overlapping mess of leaves, damp and speckled with black. Insects crawled over them. The scent of the forest was that which follows a heavy rain. Just say it, he thought. Just fucking say it. "Yubel has possessed Johan. If you see him and he has orange eyes, run. And, yeah, I get how that sounds, leaving the guy we're all here to save, but Yubel is a monster. You can't risk it, or..." He breathed in, tasting metal. "Well, don't risk it unless you can win."

A faint sound, probably her heels sliding over the leaves as she adjusted her position, and Manjoume scowled at nothing. 

"Even Johan and Judai together couldn't defeat Yubel. We would need a plan."

"Right."

"Manjoume-kun?"

Damn it.

"...There's more you should know."

"Okay. What is it?"

In layers, the heat was coming down, each one heavier than the last, and he threw back his bangs, cursing to himself. The forest blurred.

"Everything Yubel does is about Judai. They're obsessed with isolating him, no matter what." Being brainwashed had confirmed that, their words poured like liquid into his mind until they overflowed, overwhelming _everything_ with their mad chanting, with their desperate cries of Judai's name, and Manjoume shoved his damp bangs back again, cursing a little. Scabs passed under his short nails. "After what happened in the arena, Judai turned into the Supreme King, the ruler of the Dark World. His eyes are gold, and he’s...unbelievably strong." 

Sure, that scar had been from a guard shoving him around, but the Supreme King had made it worse, just by looking at it with bared interest, just by letting the smallest fraction of life into his taunting words. Judai's nails had been made to split it open, picking at the red and black until blood had stained his fingertips, as if they had been dipped in paint. As if Judai had tried to rescue some injured animal again. As if something _normal_ had happened and not this, not any of this. 

The Supreme King had made him afraid -- a moth madly trying to escape the hands closed around it, tensing before they would, finally, slowly, crush the life from its body. For unending nights, alone in the cruel dark, he had beaten the bars of his cell, screaming until his throat had been raw, the pain in fast, fluttering beats. After he had escaped, that fear had stayed, as if those armored fingers had only parted for a moment, a crooked view of freedom, and he wanted to deny it, to deny _all_ of it.

Inside that castle, Judai had remained. He was being crushed. He was being ground down into nothing. 

"Why did I leave?" Manjoume heard himself ask the question, and his stomach turned, the taste of bile rising. "What the fuck is wrong with me? Why did I...? I… I could've went up to that room again. I could've tried harder. I…" 

He stood up, and he traced the scar again, a tremor making its way through him. 

Asuka tried to touch him, and he pulled away. The forest was gone. 

"It’s… I-It's like they always said. I'm the worthless one, the underachiever. What a sick joke. What… What the fuck was I doing? All I did was hurt him, and h-he's… He’s _Judai_ , and I couldn't…"

The second time, Asuka did not let him go, and he dug his hands into her back. He could not feel the tears, but he hated every one of them. He hated them until he was numb to everything but the scent of her hair and the motion of her breathing, a cycle that continued on and on as he remained in her arms, someone lost but still alive. 

\---

_"Win, win. You...just have to win," he shouted, and he slammed his fists against the sink, closing his eyes against the pathetic reflection shaking above it. This pressure was choking him. It was growing its claws, and his knees hit the floor._

_His brothers had orchestrated this duel, complete with a film crew and deals with the major networks. They had bought cards for him -- mint and pristine and waiting in a slim briefcase that he wanted to remain shut, the contents the residue of some nightmare that had continued for too long._

_"Just win. Just do this one thing right, this one time," he rasped, and he needed to stand up. He washed his face and rubbed at his eyes._

_If anyone saw this weakness, they would have hated him for it. No other outcome seemed possible. Such things were galaxies away._

\---

_"Damn it, damn it,_ damn _it."_

_His mechanical pencil became a missile, and it bounced off the wall and clattered to the floor. Overlapping worksheets for history were layered on the dorm-room desk, a pathetic, shambling thing that was half splinters and had its drawers jam constantly, and through the thin walls of Slifer Red, there was a muffled 'Just go to bed already!' in Sho's voice._

_"Who do you think you_ are _, addressing me so casually. Insignificant little…"_

_A dull thump, from Sho hitting the wall._

_Manjoume Thunder was officially pissed off, and he stood up, strode across the meager excuse for a dorm room, and then threw the door open. He almost hit Judai with it._

_"That's a shame," he grumbled, and Judai, crouched on the outside walkway, frowned up at him. He held a jar of fireflies, the lid kept on with one hand. "What do you think you're doing, you lowlife?"_

_"It's...a long story," Judai admitted with a guilty shrug, and Manjoume let the fantasy play out where he shoved Judai over the railing. At best, it was a mediocre distraction, and he closed the door behind him to stop any insects from crawling inside, not that_ any _part of the sagging excuse for a building could be called 'secure'._

_Turning on his heel, he went in the opposite direction, but the sudden hand on his shoulder made that difficult. It was an obstacle, and he smacked it off with a snarl. Specks of orange light traveled over the high points of his rivals face. Dirt clung to his cheek._

_Vaguely, Manjoume considered throwing himself over the railing instead._

_"Uh… Are you okay?" Judai's question had come out of_ nowhere _, and when he didn't bark out an answer, Judai continued in that same slightly-too-high voice. "You were, uh, sounding pretty intense in there. I could hear you from over there, by the cliffs you know. So, I…"_

_"So you decided to sit outside of my door? Because, yeah, clearly_ that's _helpful," Manjoume shot back, and his upper lip curled back. Inside the jar, translucent wings were slowly spread, faint lights beating inside the glass, its surface smudged by fingerprints. "Although, you won't understand. You probably don't even_ know _we have history homework."_

_"History homework?"_

_"Homework, for history class."_

_A pause, and then Judai beamed, clutching the jar close to his chest. "Ah, okay! Well, good luck with that!"_

_"Good luck with… Wait. Hey,_ wait _a second."_

_"Sorry, can't hear you!" Judai said as he pivoted and walked towards his own dorm room. "All that noise must've damaged my eardrums. Ouch. Guess I should see the nurse tomorrow…"_

_"You stupid-"_

_Sho smacked the wall again, and Manjoume, seething, turned and entered his dorm room again, making a point of slamming the door._

\---

Crying on Tenjouin Asuka had not been fun. At all. 

Eventually she had told him to stop apologizing, and eventually he could look at her again.

"None of this was in the fucking brochure," he muttered to himself, snapping a nearby stick because he could. "In some alternate timeline, I stayed at North Academy and had a great time. Like, they worshipped me over there. I was their God."

"I think you're exaggerating," she replied, a wry smile on her face. "Although, I'll agree with you about the brochure. During our first year, two different people shoved me into coffins, which is a unique experience, if nothing else."

"Don't get me started on the state of our school’s outdated security system, _or_ ," he added, followed by another snap, "that secret dome Chronos-sensei is always sneaking off to."

"Oh, the Mokey Mokey dome?"

"...The _what_?"

"Do you know Motegi-kun?"

"...No?"

Pausing to clear her throat, Asuka then told him about the Mokey Mokey duel, and Manjoume found himself cringing through the entire story. Some kind deity had spared him from the humiliation of being caught in that Mokey Mokey aura, although, all things considered, having a student in an isolation dome seemed-

"That's seriously messed up,” he declared, and Asuka shrugged, vivid against a backdrop of dried-out leaves and writhed, grey trunks. A breeze would have meant relief from the staggering heat, pressing in from all sides.

"Motegi-kun seems okay with it."

"Yeah, but…" Sighing, he leaned hard against the tree. "Whatever. That still doesn't get into the top ten bizarre things about our school."

"Hm. I know what my number one would be."

"Anything involving this place doesn't count."

Her smile surprised him. "How about the abandoned dorm?"

"That...was where Fubuki-san disappeared," he said, stupid and obvious. 

The cicada-cries were clustering together, and she dipped her head slightly. "It broke my parents' hearts, when the news came that something had happened to him, only no one could say what it was. I would wake up with this feeling like, 'This isn't real,' or, 'It's just a misunderstanding.' Eventually, I had to deal with those thoughts directly, and the Kaiser, being able to talk to him helped me more than I can say."

"I...see."

"Growing up, I admired my brother so much. He's a strong duelist, and confident in everything he sets his mind to. More than that, he's genuine in how he cares for others, and losing him, it was like losing a part of myself." She paused, unmoving. "I always knew I was lucky to have a brother like him, and… It's my turn to apologize, Manjoume-kun," she stated, unflinching with her honest smile, like a beacon in the dark, and he stuttered instead of answering her. "I didn't realize how much your brothers had hurt you, and I could've been a more understanding friend."

Looking away, he kicked at the leaves. “...You don’t have to apologize to me for anything.”

“Even if you believe that, I still want to make my feelings clear. You’re not an underachiever, and you’re not worthless.”

He said nothing at first, his heart beating as if it wanted to escape his chest, and her attention was a bright light, overwhelming. Those hours sealed in a cell made him flinch from it, a physical reaction that he couldn’t stop. “Of course I’m not,” he muttered, picking at a thread until it unraveled. “I’ve made a name for myself. I have a reputation that’s my own. Did I mention that there’s an entire branch of this school that worships me? Plus, GeneX wasn’t even a challenge.”

“Manjoume-kun…”

“All I want to do right now is get out of here, stop our allies from being shoved around by some brainwashed monster from the middle ages or whatever, and go back to Duel Academia, where I’ll have my cards, my Ojamas, and the rest of my stuff. So, just…” He deserved a month off from doing difficult things, like saying the next sentence without stuttering through it, and Manjoume, his palm against his forehead, let out a heavy sigh. “Let’s focus on the first part. I’m...not going to fall apart again. We probably don’t have a lot of time left, and beating Yubel at their own game is too important.”

A slight rustle, and then she was standing beside him -- smudged dirt on her arms, those faint scratches still criss-crossing down her bare legs. “I recognize the mountains over there,” she added, gesturing through a gap in the trees, “which means that while we won’t be able to reach the tower from this distance, I can at least show you what it looks like.”

“Yeah, let’s go.”

When she arched a thin eyebrow, it was as if they were in a duel arena and she had just corrected him on a misread card effect. “I have one condition. You have to tell me if you start feeling sick or tired. Believe me when I say that the climate here is unforgiving.” Before he could even _think_ of responding, she kept going, her hands on her hips. “You are right about what we should do next, but you’re also _injured_ , Manjoume-kun. Think about if our positions were reversed. What would you tell me to do?”

“I get it.”

“Do you?”

“Yes. I’m not Judai. I actually _listen_ when people talk.”

Slowly, the hard edges of her expression faded, and she took a step back, smiling a little. “Hm. If that’s true, then you should have a story to keep our spirits up during the walk.”

“Obviously. I’m the master of suspense,” he said, and she laughed next. 

\---

_“Your eyes are the colour of quicksilver, a substance of great promise in the hands of a genius and great danger in the hands of a fool.” Steepled, Judai’s fingers were over his right eye, short nails tight to his skin, and fear coursed through him in waves, seeping all warmth. The Supreme King’s smirk remained, grotesque -- a thing of nightmares. “I wonder for how long that colour will remain after I cut it out."_

_And it would have happened._

_The control behind that voice had been absolute. Captured, he would have been torn apart, and Judai-_

\---

-and he threw the hand off his arm, blinking fast until the gold of that stare streaked into nothingness, fused with the solid greys of the mountainside and the white of her uniform. Her. Asuka.

Shit.

“I-”

“It’s alright,” she said, and he had a vague sense of wanting to throw himself over the railing outside the Slifer Red dormitory or into the ocean. Considering the rocky expanse surrounding them now, there were obstacles in the way of either option.

“I...zoned out,” were the words he decided on.

“We can rest here.”

“No, it’s…” Frustrated, he started over, aware of how her eyebrows knitted together when he pushed his slick bangs back. The heat had subsided, and the cold wind, rasping through the dried-out grasses and thorns below, made his sweat stick in an even worse way. Asuka had refused his coat three times. “We should continue. This isn’t even a challenge for me,” he said, referring to the steep slope they were positioned on, the crest near, its angles positioned against a pale sky. “The thought of taking revenge is excellent motivation, to put it _lightly_. With that monster at the peak, I could probably climb the volcano on Academy Island in thirty minutes. Minimum.”

“That’s less than half of the current record,” she chided, and he let her take the lead again. “Also, you were the one to warn me about how dangerous it is to engage Yubel. That same warning applies to you too, doesn’t it?”

“Well, I...” Hating the necessity of it, he again blinked away the flashes of gold. He separated it from the features that should belong to Judai, _only_ Judai. Asuka’s boots crunched over the patches of fine stone. “Once I get my deck back, that dynamic will change. I’ll be the dangerous one.”

“Hmm… Should I accuse you of being reckless?” 

He tapped the side of his face, where the brand of anger had sunken in. “No, I’m pissed off. There’s nothing more dangerous than that.”

\---

Around the tower was a circle of jagged rocks, a massive crown without any gems or refined features. They were between two of its points, Asuka sitting next to him with the same solemn look that had overtaken her when the valley first bowled out below them, the scale of it staggering.

Dead center was a column of light, thin like a vertical thread that extended up to the sky. Faint, it shimmered, and around it was nothing but barren land. 

“That’s the goal, huh?” he muttered to himself, and Asuka stirred, turning her head. She had refused his coat another two times.

“According to my brother, the temperature changes are more extreme as you approach the tower.”

“Almost like Yubel doesn’t want us there.”

“I’m not sure about that,” she stated with a frown. “Not to sound pessimistic, but, considering how powerful Yubel is, couldn’t they have found a way to keep us away from it permanently?”

“You’re saying it’s a trap.”

“No, not a trap.” The cold set in harsher than before, coiling and crawling through his layers of fabric. Asuka did not shiver, as if she was ice itself. “It’s like an embodiment of what this dimension does. It gives you hope, like the first time I saw my brother again, but then it tries to take it away. It tries to make you feel small, insignificant.”

“That seems to be Yubel’s style.”

“It’s the same as…”

“What?”

Her eyes were on him then, the focus tangible. Overheard, thin clouds churned into a thicker mass. “It’s the same feeling as when the Light of Destruction was in my head. Yubel, they want to wear us down with this fatigue, with this loneliness that they’ve created. They want us to give in.”

“Tenjouin-kun, don’t let them take away your control. They’re...desperate, pathetic. Honestly, if you saw them like I did, you’d understand.” He chuckled, although it felt wrong, like a clamp was closing around his throat. “If the Light of Destruction burned us, then it razed everything Yubel was to the ground, leaving just this... _mess_ behind.”

The clamp tightened.

“In another dimension, you saw Judai and Johan. After that, Yubel hurt you.” 

Denial was impossible, and he stared at his knuckles, each bearing a variation of the ugly marks that extended over the remainder of his bare hands. Old scabs. Nails that had chipped and become bloodied. An earlier curiosity had made him roll down his sleeves, and the bruise from Judai’s- from the _Supreme King’s_ grasp had broken into muddied yellow-brown shapes, the center still a deep purple. Stripes of flaking red skin had trailed down his wrists, the colours intensifying towards his elbows -- pure red, rubbed raw. 

His chest would be worse. His _shoulder_ would be worse from Squinty’s claws, torn into ribbons.

“They gave me a reason to abandon all sympathy for them, for _anyone_ associated with them. When Judai gets out of this, he’ll have to do the same.”

\---

For a long time, they stayed in silence, breathing in the same cold air that seemed like the precursor to snow, lots of it. Asuka’s assessment was correct, in that making it down the ridge and to the tower was impossible, the fatigue a pulverizing force. One advantage of their position was the steeper rocks on either side, buffering the wind as it rolled in, and, without words, he rolled off his coat and held it out. With a slight pressure, she pushed it back.

Tenjouin Asuka could be unbelievably stubborn.

“Okay, _fine_ . I haven’t washed it in awhile, but _you’re_ wearing… J-Just take it.”

“Yes, but your condition isn’t very good,” she said, which was a polite way of saying, _‘You, Thunder, look like shit.’_ Even if he did, that was not the point here. 

“Your brother would-”

She snorted, amused. “If that’s your strategy, then it’s not going to work.” In a softer voice, she then added, “Please, keep it. I’m really not that cold.”

“Fine.”

He dropped it between them, and Asuka made one of those expressions usually reserved for the Red-Eyes duelist himself, the judgement enough to make a lesser person cower. Apparently it had taken multiple possessions, a dimension full of demons, and several near-death situations for Manjoume to obtain the mental fortitude necessary to match that look, which he did. Because he was Manjoume Thunder, he added some extra flair, tilting his chin up and crossing his arms.

Asuka clicked her tongue.

“Forgive me for being blunt, but you take those lessons with my brother too seriously.”

“Oh? And what kind of person would _I_ be if I let an icon of Obelisk Blue sit there, _freezing_?”

Matching him, she crossed her arms, the judgement increasing to a higher level. He withstood it, easily. Well, barely. Somehow. 

“Fine,” she finally said, like it was the answer to a difficult math question and _he_ was the idiot for not automatically grasping all the intermediate steps, but before he could let his scowl deepen, she had taken the coat.

Their eyes met again, and then she stood up, sat _directly_ next to him on the hard, unforgiving ground, and threw the coat sideways across both of their shoulders. A warm presence, she had pressed against him from her chest to her thigh, and any remaining distance was _gone_ when she clutched the coat tighter, his entire left side now entirely belonging to Asuka.

“Am...I dead again?”

“Stop that,” she muttered, and, yes, he was dead. Absolutely dead, because next she grabbed his left arm and held it close, the flower-like scent of her hair thick and _everywhere_. Two meters of snow could have fallen all at once, and he probably wouldn’t have noticed.

He did notice how her gaze stayed on his hands -- ragged and bone-thin, a collection of sharp angles and raised tendons.

He did notice that, even if he wanted to, he couldn’t have stood up again. All had become heavy, and he let his head drop. Her grip tightened.

If crying on Tenjouin Asuka had been embarrassing, confusing, and soul-destroying, then this sharing-warmth exercise should’ve been like a continuation, made even _more_ awkward by the proximity. Instead, it was something else, like a repeat of being in Amnael’s isolation bubbles, Asuka’s warmth as undeniable as her strength. 

“We’re going to be separated again, so be ready for it,” she said, just above a whisper. “Remember that we have allies out there, and we have to trust them.”

“They have to go after the Supreme King before the entire dimension breaks apart, but the way he duels, it's like an execution.” He closed his eyes, and the images were there, blurred. “I should be out there.”

“I know how you feel. Not being able to help someone you care about, it’s the worst, isn’t it?” She hummed a little, and he had meant to answer her. “Get some rest. Tomorrow, I’ll try to find you. So-”

The word meshed together, and he remembered trying to push his coat away, Asuka settling it over his shoulders again, and then he was out, completely. The cold faded.

\---

Manjoume Thunder was allergic to three things -- exercise, studying, and camping. If there was one compliment he _had_ to give Yubel, it was that they were a true artisan of torture, and by the time he staggered over to the nearest tree and fell against it, he had finished a very elaborate scenario involving himself lounging on a couch, an air-conditioned room, a flat-screen tv, and a lock secure enough to keep out _any_ dimensional overlords. 

Escalators. This dimension, comprised mainly of sparse forests and sudden mountains, could _really_ use some escalators. And those moving walkways that airports had.

At his estimate, it had been at least two days since he had seen Asuka, and the traces of her scent had left his coat, but that absence wouldn’t destroy him. The purpose, the _goal_ , was a steel cord through him, and no surge of heat or bitter cold would be enough to snap it. The cuts on his hands had started to close. The bruise on his wrist, shaped by fingers bearing an inhuman strength, had faded to a dull yellow.

Shoving off the tree, he straightened his lapels and started for the mountains again, the slope of the highest crest familiar -- as if it could be one point of that crown-like formation, the tower waiting in the center. Because of the, ah, _useful_ combination of the dimension’s constant fatigue and the nightmares that had been forced into his head, he had _some_ idea of the region’s geography, although, if anyone asked, he would say that he had a complete understanding, so perfect that he could’ve made a one-hundred-percent accurate map. No one had asked yet. 

Aside from Asuka, the only other person he’d seen was Kenzan, and _that_ had been from a large distance, Kenzan the distinctly-yellow speck moving through the valley below. It had vanished before reaching the tower, and, gritting his teeth, Manjoume had silently given the dino-user his approval. 

They all had to try. Anything else would be unacceptable.

“Better than a cell, I _guess_ ,” he grumbled as he found his footing, the slope increasing. Ahead was only grey, the sky a darker shade than the rock. Any trees clinging stubbornly to the ground were bare of leaves.

He tripped over a passed-out Edo Phoenix.

“Why are _you_ here?!” he snapped, and immediately the hero-user, sprawled over the ground, opened his eyes and raised himself. Patches of dirt clung to his pale suit. 

“Apparently an Exodia deck is still viable. Who knew?”

“...What?”

“Amon. Exodia.” He rolled his eyes. “I really hope you can fill in the rest.”

“You _lost_?”

“...Why do I bother talking to you?” Edo drawled, and then, shoving his hands in his pockets, he started up the slope. He had the nerve to not look ridiculous hiking in dress shoes and a tailored suit. Manjoume was annoyed, for some reason. “Asuka told me about the, ah, ‘rules’ here, and I’d rather not waste time. This location seems promising.”

“I’d rather not waste my time dealing with _you_ , but, hey, life’s not fair,” Manjoume shot back, and Edo’s face, magazine-ready and _definitely_ annoying, cracked into a low smirk. Yubel would never bother cloning Edo. The real thing was enough to deal with. 

“Hmm… Perhaps nothing proves that better than my present company.”

“Ha. Ha.”

A mist began to roll in, and the chill that increased in intensity was familiar by now, finding all the holes in his coat and working its way in. As he had expected, Edo had no duel disk attached to his wrist, and asking about his cards would be pointless. For obvious purposes, he was also _not_ going to bring up the way Edo kept glancing at him, the expression calculating. 

One strategy for getting ahead of an opponent was to catch them off guard.

“So, what the hell have you been doing this whole time? In case you were confused, this wasn’t _supposed_ to be a vacation.”

“Trust me, I wasn’t relaxing,” Edo said without slowing down. “Although, that statement tells me how behind you are on things. Inside the other dimension, the power has shifted.”

Manjoume had stopped, and pure ice twisted in his veins, the _shock_ of it making him stutter, his eyes unseeing. There were too many outcomes, and if-

“What happened?” he ground out, and if Judai was still- No. Stop. Memories of gold crashed together and shattered. 

Edo was looking at him again.

“The Supreme King was defeated.”

\---


	9. Ascended

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References: A lot of references here to the events of episodes 152 through 155. The writing might get a bit clunky when incorporating scenes from canon, so apologies in advance.
> 
> Dialogue: Some of Manjoume’s dialogue is from episodes 153 and 156, featuring minor alterations.
> 
> As always, thanks for reading!

\---

_Frozen in place, he watched as the challenger fell, overcome by the light that engulfed her body, and the Supreme King stepped back, duel disk extended and writhing beneath a great darkness. The shadows called to him, the master of this broken world._

\---

_“I wonder for how long that colour will remain after I cut it out,” a chilling voice rasped, and his own blood was used to mark to his skin, five points around his right eye._

_It would have happened. The Supreme King had bled all sympathy from that voice, and Manjoume, hating himself, had been caged by fear._

\---

_But-_

\---

“-which means that someone else has to take care of Amon now, unfortunately.” Edo sighed, and then he changed the topic. “I bought them some time. They will have escaped, especially with the Kaiser in the group. He’s...motivated, to put it lightly.”

“Right.”

“...You’re not taking this very well.”

“Just… Shut up,” he mumbled. The new information would not fit with the memories spinning inside his head, chaotic and cutting, tearing. Jim and O'Brien had dueled the Supreme King. The Eye of Orichalcum had banished the darkness, and Judai-

Judai was _out_.

“My rival. What’s he…” He made a gesture. He felt _stupid_.

Edo didn’t even blink. 

“He’s upset. He blames himself for everything. He doesn’t believe that he has the right to call anyone his friend,” Edo stated, as if those words were fucking _easy_. The cold was an afterthought. Manjoume wanted to break something, that category including Edo’s smug face. “He refuses to use fusion, because of the damage that concept has caused to this world. For him to obtain victory over anyone, he has to change that mindset, and my support… Well, it’s something that the others will have to maintain.”

“He thinks it’s his fault that we’re dead.”

A narrow smile, and Edo shifted his weight, the cut of his profile stark against the dead landscape. “I told him not to think of it as a sacrifice. After all, true heroes always do what they can.”

“‘True heroes,’ huh?” Manjoume laughed, showing his teeth. He stepped closer. “You have no right to sound so secure, so _confident_ . You _lost_ , and you’re facing me, his rival, as if that’s _fine_ or _noble_ or some bullshit like that.”

“Ah, here it is. Your confrontational attitude.” Edo rolled his eyes, and Manjoume almost hit him, knuckles to jaw. “Should I doubt that you _honestly_ want to help Judai? Seems to me that-”

When he swung, Edo caught his fist.

They broke apart, and Manjoume settled for an unmoving target next, kicking hard at a loose rock and sending it down the slope. Good. Suffer.

Sighing, Edo opened with, “Well, if that’s all, I’m going to get back to the objective. I take it you’d prefer to...kick more rocks? Maybe yell at the sky?”

“W-What’s your problem?!”

“...Says the guy who just tried to punch me,” Edo stated, and, okay, maybe Manjoume cringed a little. He initiated a staring contest with the nearest boulder. “Thunder, I shouldn’t have to explain my frustration to you. Judai saved my friend, and I’m not the type to forget that.”

“You’re also a… Ah, whatever,” he muttered to himself, a match without anything to light. 

“Also, in case you somehow missed it, you look like you’ve already gone three rounds in the arena with me, and… Well, it wouldn’t be fair if I hit back, would it?”

“You know, a _normal_ person would say, ‘Wow, Thunder. You look bad,’ which is over the line but, hey, it’s less annoying than the shit you come up with.”

“Hmm… But that’s boring, isn’t it?” Edo drawled, and when he started walking again, Manjoume kept up. He tried to focus on the mechanical motion of moving his legs. It was a futile effort. He could have collapsed. 

\---

If nothing else, Edo was useful for keeping Manjoume awake, in that he was exceptionally irritating.

“-and so my win streak continued from there,” Edo observed, summarizing his Pro League career, and Manjoume’s scowl now felt permanent. 

They had reached the top of the ridge, and the tower was the same as before -- an isolated structure of white light. Unlike Asuka, who had led him for _hours_ before they had reached the base of the ridge, Edo did not stop at the hollow between the two higher points. Edo had woken up extremely close to the goal, and he continued on, checking his footing as he began the descent.

“Okay, _this_ is a bad idea,” Edo declared without looking back, and Manjoume almost ate rock, windmilling his arms for balance. He made the save before Edo turned around. “Just so we’re clear, if you fall, I’m not catching you.”

“Some hero _you_ are,” Manjoume taunted, and Edo, vengeful despite the good-guy hero act, picked up speed, scaling down the formations with precise movements. If Manjoume could have stayed within five meters of the guy, he would’ve considered another attempt at punching him, and, _yeah_ , he had started further away from Edo, shoving his way through branches and tripping over roots until the forest cleared. Before, he would have stopped at the peak and stared at the view below for signs of life, for changes in the beam of pure white.

Now, with these new thoughts building and swarming, he was crackling with energy that could not be contained, and when he reached the bottom, the land flat and arid, he took quick strides to reach Edo. Frost branched below in wide patterns. It crunched under his heels, and for the first time in so, _so_ fucking long, he was himself. Matching him was his jagged shadow, long from the flare of his coat.

“A brat like you will definitely pass out first,” he said with a sneer, and Edo’s eyebrows raised. “But, ah, don’t worry. I promise not to hold it against you, underclassman.”

“Right, because _you’re_ known for your manners,” Edo replied. Manjoume shook his head, taking pity on the uninitiated who did not understand the glory of Manjoume Thunder. 

Like Edo, he had shoved his hands deep in his pockets, the layer of frost growing thicker, and the tower remained an unclear thing, a suggestion. 

Although, Manjoume had made one _minor_ mistake -- he had assumed Edo’s long stretches of moody silence were because he had understood the terms of their silent and totally-not-drawn-up-entirely-in-Manjoume’s-brain truce, which specified that talking about his injuries at length was forbidden. Ultra banned. The kind of thing you’d get thrown out of a tournament for and then blacklisted from all professional dueling leagues.

“You’re going to heal slower if you keep acting like this.”

“I didn’t ask for _your_ opinion, did I?”

Chuckling, Edo flicked his head back. “True, but I’m missing some entertainment right now. Although, your yelling does give me a headache.”

“Good.”

“Ah, how does Judai put up with this…”

Manjoume felt himself stiffen, a visible reaction branching down his features before he could stop it, _kill_ it. Recovering quickly was crucial.

“You...should’ve asked him that yourself,” Manjoume muttered, the words clumsy and weak like characters written with the wrong hand. Edo noticed.

Of course he did.

\---

Glaring at the tower did not bring it closer, which was very inconvenient.

They did reach it. Eventually. 

The massive panel of white light was broken up by what could only be described as bubbles, floating from the bottom to the top where they vanished, and inside each one was a darkness, wisps of grey over a deep blue-purple. 

A realization was battering at him, and yet it hadn’t broken in. The bubbles continued to make their sluggish trek upwards.

Wary, he watched when Edo held out his arm, reaching for the faint shimmer of the barrier, and when his fingers brushed it, he pulled back. Because Edo was an asshole, he didn’t say anything, not until Manjoume cleared his throat and made the deadpan observation of, “So, you’re still alive…”

“Yeah. Thankfully.” Edo rolled his eyes, his fingers curling in one by one. “I think this column is the source of the energy drain. If it’s stronger just by standing here, then touching it is even worse.” 

“It’s not _that_ strong,” Manjoume grumbled, and it was true, from his perspective. Warped as it was by the information Edo had given him. Changed by the possibilities outside this place, this isolation game. Within the bubbles, the colours parted and changed behind a thick fog.

“Thunder, save the tough act for someone who might fall for it.”

“I’m not _acting_.”

“...Huh. Is that really how energetic rivals are?” Edo asked, and Manjoume wasn’t going to answer that. “There’s a resistance to it. I won’t be able to ‘get inside’ the column itself.”

“Yeah, obviously. Why would Yubel leave a portal behind? The whole point is to _trap_ us here.”

“Hm. You wouldn’t happen to have any explosive charges in that pathetic excuse for a jacket?”

Bristling, he snapped back, “Watch your tone.”

“For _your_ sake? You must be joking.”

“Fuck you.”

“Please, don’t.”

Under normal not-kidnapped circumstances, Manjoume would have stormed off. Instead, he made a show of crossing his arms. “Well, if you’re such a top strategist and _genius_ , then naturally you’ve figured out how this thing works. Anything else would be embarrassing, right?”

Laughing, Edo leaned back. Around them, the frost had crept in, thicker and thicker, and night was next. It fell in waves, the clouds blotting out the strange stars. 

And still, the column glowed, the orbs within it moving at that controlled, sedated pace.

“Look closely. The details, they’re of a structure of some kind. A building, maybe.” Edo paused, and he -- eerily pale from the wash of white light -- blinked slowly. “My guess is probably better than your conclusion, and so I’ll claim that this column is a conduit, taking our energy directly to Yubel’s fortress.”

-and Edo was right. Within the swirls were the suggestions of rooms. A wide set of white stairs led to a massive throne, empty. Next were two shut doors, wreathed with dark spikes and dripping with shadows. 

“...Why would-”

“Why would they let us see this?” Edo asked, and he smirked, crooked and high. “Because Yubel has a weakness. It’s the same weakness most villains have, especially the ones that go against a rag-tag group of lovable heroes. Although, now that I think about it, it’s the same weakness _you_ have.”

“Just...spit it out.”

“Yubel is arrogant, just like Amon. You know, the _other_ person actively trying to take over the world,” Edo stated. He stared into the column. If Manjoume took a step, he knew he would stagger, and Edo’s jaw worked a little, his pose rigid, perfected. “We can use that fact against them.”

“Okay, but they’re intelligent. They’ve planned _all_ of this.”

Edo shrugged.

The frost was biting in, and the clouds pressed down. Around them was a vast silence, a void of darkness that stretched forever. It had taken in the mountains. When he breathed out, it showed.

“I should throw your words back at you about the ‘tough act,’ by the way. You’re lucky that I’m so gracious.”

“It’s not an act,” Edo said with that same smirk, and then he shook his head. “Also, you? Gracious?”

“You’re barely holding on, so that comeback is just pathetic, even by _your_ standards.”

“Ah, sounds like you’ll miss me.”

“Urgh. Don’t talk like-”

“Judai?”

With a long, rattling breath, Manjoume stepped back, his hands clawed deep in his pockets, and a shiver branched through him, curling in his wrists and shaking his ribs, twining between them and tightening its grip. At North Academy, the cold had been different, more like a constant that, with concentration, could be dealt with, but _this_? This climbed. It wanted in.

It kept going, splitting out like roots. It traced his veins.

“...I probably shouldn’t say this, but this feels like a knock-off death scene, and, well, here we go,” was what Edo opened with, his gaze dimmer than usual, as if the night was encroaching on it too, taking it bit by bit. Everything was being stolen. Below, the frost spread in hand-like patterns, and it glittered faintly. It worsened as the weight of the cold did, settled inside him. “Don’t deny that you’re worried about Judai. I’m too tired to go through an argument with you, if it can be avoided.”

“Where...are you going with this?”

“Like I said earlier, I owe him a lot. It’s similar for you, actually,” Edo drawled in that too-knowing way. Manjoume made a mental note to publicly destroy him in a duel. Later. “My advice? Try to consider his perspective. Don’t turn the next time you see him again into a scene that you’ll regret later. Also, don’t forget about his own strength. It’s still there, even if it’s a little buried at the moment.”

“Why should-”

“And don’t forget that I have a friend who was also forced to do terrible things, so, yeah. I know what I’m talking about here,” Edo stated, and when he sighed, he sagged with it. He looked tired, smudges below his open eyes. “Well, I would say it’s been fun, but that’s not quite accurate, is it?”

“Not even close.”

Asleep on his feet, Edo was then gone.

Just gone, and Manjoume, sighing to himself, stalked closer to the column-thing, since no one would notice that his legs were shaking. Inside the bubbles were the scattered pieces of somewhere distant, and-

And suddenly a forked shadow moved across a length of floor. He tracked it to the next bubble.

He tracked it to the throne room, and, stunned, he watched as Johan Andersen, with eyes of the deepest orange, ascended the stairs, the expression all Yubel’s.

It was arrogance, he thought. Only Yubel would leave a connection like this open, and when they glanced over, it was with a tilt of Johan’s head and knife-like grin, and then the bubble popped -- purple-blue smears against the streaming white, and-

And his eyes were shut, exhaustion pulling him down to meet the frost, hitting it with a thud.

\---

_“The darkness in your heart is quite remarkable, Manjoume Jun.”_

\---

_“By killing you twice, I’ve uprooted you from his heart, and that’s caused him pain. But, please, don’t worry. I’ll be there for him. I’ll trace all of those beautiful scars.”_

\---

“Not a chance,” he grumbled as he lifted himself off the ground, hissing with the effort. Moss clung to his palms and knees. It dropped in ragged clumps, and a rolling mist had sank low. Overheard, the vast darkness remained. Visibility was low.

He picked a direction and went with it, shaking the ice particles off his sleeves. Every step was followed by a crunch, and dodging the branches that emerged from the darkness was more of a challenge than he wanted it to be, their edges leaving stinging lines on his face and hands. When some weird apple-like _thing_ bobbed in front of him, he snatched it off the tree and ate the flavourless husk, which probably went again every single survival guide in existence, but, hey, it worked.

The rage bubbling under his skin staved off the lingering cold, its embers sparking new flames. 

He had to return to the tower. It was a fact, not a decision. It had been burned into him.

He moved forward, and the mist could have been even thicker than this, the traces of light even fainter, and he _still_ would’ve recognized the two little forms huddled between two overturned rocks, their shivers and whines so familiar that he could have just imagined them, with one-hundred-percent accuracy, of course.

They were _his_ cards.

“Oi, get up you two- H-Hey, too close, you idiotic little-”

“B-Boss!! The boss is here!”

“T-Thunder!! W-We thought you were _never_ coming back!”

One major disadvantage of all this spirit world bullshit was that the Ojamas were tangible here, which made them far, _far_ more unbearable than normal. Globs of snot and big, wet tears dripped _everywhere_. When he batted them off, he had to endure the momentary contact, cringing and muttering to himself. Blinking through their tears, Ojama Green and Ojama Black floated in front of him.

Wait.

“Where’s Yellow?”

Crestfallen, Ojama Black shuffled in place, and, damn it. Manjoume was officially getting too soft. He frowned at the sight. “H-He, uh, didn’t get pulled into this world like the rest of us. I dunno where he is…”

“This is terrible! It’s like the human world all over again,” Ojama Green yelped, his mono-eye open wide. “We gotta find him, Thunder!”

“Getting to the tower is our main priority,” he said, and immediately there were two matching pouts. Urgh. “Yellow’s so obnoxious that anything trying to hurt him would probably give up and leave him alone. Don’t waste your energy worrying about him.”

Two matching grumbles were next, Ojama Black crossing his stubby arms while Ojama Green stared at the ground. 

“Yeah, but…”

“Trust me, nothing will _want_ to get close to Yellow. Plus, there are bigger problems here, like, you know, the world ending.”

Ojama Green piped up with, “T-The world’s ending?!”

“...Yeah. Basically.” At their matching looks of confusion, he snapped out, “I don’t have time for this. We’re going. Now.”

\---

Ojamas and straightforward commands went together like the Slifer Red dorm and cleaning duty. Rather quickly, Manjoume decided that he was, indeed, miserable. Angry, yes, but also miserable.

One contributing factor, not-Ojama related, was that navigating through the mist was basically impossible, an inconvenience that would never have happened if it wasn’t for the massive fog machine Yubel had turned on. Visibility was less than a meter, and here he was -- stranded with two Ojamas clinging to the lapels of his jacket with their grubby, stubby fingers, exposed roots layered over each other below and slick enough to become hazards -- while a pressure intensified from all sides, as if Yubel was turning a dial on their exhaustion machine next. Perhaps the exhaustion would exponentially increase from here. Perhaps _this_ was the last step before the end, the summation of their corrupt mind’s obsessive work.

Then again, he was Manjoume Thunder, rising again from the depths of a choking darkness. In comparison, these conditions were laughable. They couldn’t stop him, not with this energy running heady through his veins, and he caught himself laughing at nothing, a low, winding sound that he had no reason to stop. 

The circle of mountains did not mesh with its surroundings, suggesting that it had been stamped there at the cost of obliterating everything below. Several of the shallow, half-dead rivers would stop at a wall of rocks, some unknown force letting the water flow into nothingness. And there were other signs too, like how the soil would suddenly become pebble-y, bad for his worn-down soles, and the trees would lose even more of their colours, reduced to cardboard-like formations stuck upright. The scattered details were registered quickly, the Ojamas’ noises faint and churning in the background, the beat-beat-beat of his heart growing louder because, _fuck_ , he was doing this. He was going to do this.

Although the frost was thawing, enough remained to preserve the footprint he saw now -- thin and tapered with its contours broken by small, rounded stones, a perfect match to the one he left next to it. He followed his own strides, and when another set matched them, he knew they had to be from Edo. The elevation rose. In the dark, he squinted and scraped and searched for the slight indentations below, blurred by the ever-thickening mist. It seeped bit by bit through his shirt.

“Uhh… B-Boss?! S-Should we really, uh, g-get closer to that thing?”

“Yubel’s there. What better reason do I need?” he answered, taking another laboured step higher. Grime had gathered under his nails, and old scabs itched, his forehead the worst. 

Ojama Green whined. “Uh… Going to see Yubel isn’t...such a good idea…”

“Are _you_ questioning _me_?”

“T-They’re strong!” was what Ojama Black burst out with, and Manjoume scoffed. “H-How about just, uh, leaving this to that Judai guy.”

“Y-Yeah! He’s always, like, going against the final villain. Saving the day.” At his glare, Ojama Green quickly realized his _error_ and added, “B-But he’s also a scumbag and, like, not a tenth as cool as our Thunder!”

“Remember when he stole our cards?!”

“Right! He’s such a-”

“You both need to apologize,” he ground out, and he had not reduced his pace. Rocks loosened and rolled down, becoming lost in the mist. “I’m not so weak that I need to accept that tone from either one of you.”

“T-Thunder-”

“Shouldn’t you, uh, rest? Instead of-”

“Either you stop talking or I’ll _make_ you stop.”

The words hung in the air as he reached the flat top, the space between the two crown-like spires obscured by the gloom. Without stopping, he began the descent. He envisioned himself as a blazing comet against a night’s sky.

\---

“ _-don’t worry. I’ll be there for him. I’ll trace all of those beautiful scars.”_

\---

Not a fucking chance.

A rival could never endure such humiliation.

Because they were Ojamas, they had ignored his muttered threats, their warbles underlying his own pants as he crossed the wasteland, seeing nothing ahead, nothing above. A flood wouldn’t have been enough to drown him. Any blizzard Yubel sent would have slipped off him like a light rain, like the cold water did now. They had already sent him to die, to make Judai _watch_ as-

\---

_“-for how long that colour will remain after I cut it out.”_

\---

-his own hands tore Manjoume apart. 

Of course, the exhaustion poured down heavier than before, his head hanging as if it had been encased in an iron helmet. Or as if someone had placed a golden crown on him, a more appropriate image. It was _such_ a good image that he jerked his chin up, the smirk unseen by all but the two Ojamas. 

It widened when a faint, pulsing light split the dark, and he knew what to look for. Human shapes. Any shadows resembling Yubel’s. He found more than just a smirking Johan Andersen this time. 

The bubble provided a terrible view of the action, a security camera placed too far away from the actually-valuable object, but _that_ could only be an ongoing duel, the smudge of purple-blue on one side Johan, the faint outlines that followed next _probably_ Sho and Chronos, and-

The red jacket. The brush of shaggy brown hair.

“It’s Judai!” Ojama Green squawked, and Manjoume should have batted him away, Ojama Black’s next comment equally moronic. He should have told them to shut up. 

Judai was dueling, and Manjoume stood in place for what felt like hours, his heart racing. A million possibilities crashed together, and he was left to sort through the collision’s remains. Judai had been taken over by the Supreme King, a creation of his desperate heart -- if _anything_ Yubel said could be trusted. Judai had been rescued from that influence, at a cost. He had blamed himself, and-

He was dueling now, and Manjoume could only stare at the fragmented image. This really was Judai. It had to be.

“Yubel wouldn’t agree to this, not unless they thought they could win or…” Or _what_ ? Was this a trap? Why _else_ would they still use Johan’s body? Or Johan’s _cards_? Those fuzzy shapes were probably the Crystal Beasts, although some of the details were off. “This...isn’t right. No, this isn’t…”

“B-Boss?!”

“Quiet,” he muttered. The three monsters on Judai’s side of the field melded together, a hulking mass of steel blue rising up and spreading its massive wings. Okay, so Judai could use contact fusion. Good. That would _likely_ help him win. Then again, this was a possessed Johan Andersen, and Yubel was, in a word, ruthless. They could kill Johan, just to-

Oh.

Oh, _shit_.

“It is a trap.”

“W-What?” Ojama Black exclaimed, floating close to him and blinking back tears. “No way! Why would it be a-”

“Yubel’s bad news, bro,” Ojama Green muttered, and Manjoume took a deep, rattling breath, his vision clouded. The greatest pain, he had learned, was to be a spectator, to be _helpless_ as others were broken down. 

\---

Storm Neos was swept off the field, and Judai’s life points had to be low. Careless of the words, Manjoume muttered to himself as he watched, the bubble drifting upwards at a slow, sedated rate, as if Yubel had calculated even _this_ \-- that he would make it back again, that he would stare at the scene with unblinking eyes.

When Judai drew a card, Manjoume made two realizations -- each unbreakable, in his opinion.

The first. The Supreme King was a part of Judai.

Nothing else made sense. Yubel, confirmed to be _obsessed_ with Judai, spoke of Judai and the Supreme King almost interchangeably. Of _course_ , there was a division between their minds, as Judai’s idea of fun usually involved card games, skipping class, or fishing while the Supreme King apparently thought it was acceptable to lurk in some villain’s palace, dress in a full set of plate armor, and, you know, torture people. Nevertheless, a connection existed between them, and, as fucked up as it was, he could almost see the denial in Judai now -- something _off_ about the way he stood, the way he handled the cards. Such things should have been effortless.

A piece of him was missing.

The second realization. Judai was not going to win against Yubel, not like this.

Not even with Super Polymerization, which engulfed the field next -- the power of it a vibration that ran up the column of light, the contents brushing together and ringing out. Startled, the Ojamas pushed inside his jacket, cowering and shaking. He ignored it.

“This is over. He has no idea, but it’s…” Damn it. _Damn_ it. 

Over Yubel was a deceptive calm, like the smooth surface of a frozen lake, the ice perilous and thin. Below was their madness.

When the turn passed to Yubel, the duel ended. Super Polymerization became their possession. They rose from Johan's body, wings unfurling from their human cocoon, and only the faintest sounds escaped the tower, rasped words too soft to form. Next, the trap's mechanism activated, the target in position. 

The explosion was for Johan, but the burst of flames never captured him, the trailing red parting until it became grey smoke, because Judai had thrown himself into the inferno. Burn marks spread over the floor. 

Although, this was not over. 

Not yet.

"He's...too weak. Like…" With a violent gesture, he stepped back from the tower, and his next breath came easier. "Fuck, knowing Judai, he probably feels bad for that oversized bat-thing, as if they deserve _any_ sympathy…" He snorted. That assessment had to be correct. In miniature, Judai was hovering over Johan, Chronos entering the frame again and kneeling down.

Johan didn't need to die to make Judai unstable. Everything about him had been halved, hollowed out, and Manjoume really, really did not like the direction his thoughts were heading in, barreling through 'DO NOT ENTER' signs and spiked barricades. They kept going, all the way down the dirt-streaked hallways, making all the right turns, and surging into a distant tower room, a cross-shaped arrow slit breaking up the monotony of the stone walls. Pale light had fallen on the delicate instrument, the telescope set on a thriving village, a mark on the map.

Yeah, sure. Yubel was a monster, but when it came to raw, unyielding power, there was only-

\---

_"-don’t forget about his own strength. It’s still there, even if it’s a little buried at the moment," Edo had said, his smile strained._

\---

"I've lost it. I've...totally lost it," Manjoume muttered to himself, and then he remembered that he had a captive audience, currently acting as freeloaders in his sleeves. He shook them out. "It took an ancient artifact, a prophecy, and two top duelists to take him down. Therefore, if Judai could control the Supreme King, then-"

"T-The Supreme King?! The golden-eyed version of Judai w-who almost killed everyone!"

"Well, not everyone," Ojama Black added, picking his nose, and then he realized that, yes, he was supposed to be terrified. His mouth fell open. "I-I still think we should go back to the forest. Maybe find some more food…"

"Let's go look for Yellow!"

"Yeah!"

Manjoume scoffed. Too easy. "He's right there."

With high-pitched yelps, the panicked Ojamas honed in on the nearest bubble, a speck of that iconic colour near the bottom right, close to Sho's hood. The obligatory crying and complaining began, which Manjoume tuned out. The bubble rose further, rotating a little. 

He wanted his deck, in addition to many other things. He wanted to be there, at Judai's side. He wanted to take down Yubel himself, as if a calm would follow that act of vengeance, as if he could force every moment of pain onto them, stark and horrible like a red-hot brand. He wanted to be away from _here_ , a plane of isolation smothered by that growing mist. He wanted to matter. He wanted to feel alive again. 

Such foolish thoughts sank like a rock between two arching waves. The rage was running out, dying down into embers that weren't enough to keep him awake and focused, to keep his head held high. Sweat dripped off his chin. Apparently he had bitten a thumb’s nail, now a jagged mass of white and streaking, dripping red. 

Focus.

When that bubble floated out of view, he scrambled around the base, tripping on nothing and scrambling to recover, and the Ojamas in his ear were useful when the exhaustion increased, hitting a new level and then surpassing it. Climbing and climbing.

The small figures of the other duelists were out of reach. The voices were so _quiet_ , and he had to strain for a single word. Bits of red parted the darkness, the bubble containing it too _high_ for him to make out the details, but the impression alone was enough. Valuable information was extracted.

Judai had gone with Yubel. He had concluded that much, and he pulled at his ruined nail with his teeth, making it worse. He forced himself to stop and wait. And wait.

More waiting. 

The Ojamas returned to his jacket, burrowing into his collar. They missed Yellow. Of course they did.

When the flaw appeared, he did not believe it at first. Could Yubel really be _that_ stupid?

The answer was a resounding yes. 

A new bubble formed at the bottom of the column, and as it rose, he could see the contained image clearly.

Marufuji Sho, featuring a sidekick of Ojama Yellow. The bubble they were floating in hadn't been shoved away or manipulated because, naturally, why would Yubel care about some human and a uniquely hideous duel monster? When his eyes met Sho’s, recognition was there. Sho was following Judai, which meant-

He smacked the Ojamas away. 

The words spilled out.

“Sho, can you hear me? Hey, Sho, tell Judai that we’re not dead. We’re sealed in another dimension,” and he would have continued, breathing hard, but the others had interrupted, Yellow’s eyestalks quivering while Green and Black pathetically whined. He had to shove the brothers away again. “Look, I don’t know _where_ we are, but it’s probably one of the twelve dimensions. It’s a terrible place, and our power is continuously drained by Yubel.”

Sho nodded, his face pale. “How… H-How do we bring you back to our dimension?”

The question was irrelevant. Manjoume kept going. “Judai has to know something. He has to get rid of any sympathy he feels towards Yubel. To beat Yubel, he needs strength. He won’t win unless he can control the Supreme King. There’s no other way.”

Sho gaze was steady, the earlier hesitation leaving his voice, and, vaguely, Manjoume knew that he had just yelled something crazy, Yubel-levels of crazy. Damp, the healed-over matter of his scar itched, as if the first drag of his nails over it would shred it like wet paper. He wanted to put his head down and sleep for twenty hours straight.

Then again, Sho was still talking. “-like what my brother meant about Judai needing to grow up. If we believe in him, if he _really_ can do it, then…”

“Just get out of here,” Manjoume said, ordered. The Ojamas were wailing again as they reached out for each other. “You have to hurry, before…”

“I’ll tell him everything you said. I promise.”

“Right.”

The contact ended soon after that, the bubble drifting out of sight. He kept up the act until Sho was gone, because he wanted to have some pride left after all of this, even if it was as tattered and thin as his coat. He punched at the cold ground, resulting in a new ache to the knuckles on his right hand. 

“I’m not dead,” he muttered to himself, seated with the Ojamas climbing over his knees. The temperature moved towards the other extreme, incremental bursts of heat made worse by the mist, heavier and heavier. It dragged over his skin. It clung to his hair, sweeping through it with wet strokes, and he opened his coat enough to let the Ojamas crawl in. They were small. Maybe the temperature changes affected them more.

“W-What happens now?” Ojama Black piped up with, and Manjoume contemplated his answer, swirls of grey intersecting the stream of light. The bubbles moved like moths under a streetlamp, agitated.

“Unless Yubel intercepts him, Sho will catch up to Judai and deliver my message, which might give him the strength needed to control the darkness in his heart. Otherwise… Well, it probably involves the apocalypse and dying, again.”

Ojama Green slumped over. “...Things were a lot simpler back at Duel Academia. Why’d we leave again?”

“We didn’t have a choice,” Manjoume stated, which was the truth. The contents of the column shook harder, as if the dimension itself would shudder next, maybe even tear open. Damn. “I should be there. As his rival, this is just...shameful.”

“Yeah, and you didn’t help out much with Saiou.”

“Oh, or the final fight with Kagemaru!”

“Watch it,” he shot back, and guilty looks were plastered onto their faces. “Although, these instances of disrespect are obviously the prelude to my greatest victory yet. My reputation as a duelist isn’t static, and if we make it out of here, then I’ll have another chance to show everyone who I really am. I’m...not some sidekick.”

“Yeah! You’re our boss!”

“You’re Thunder! The only Thunder!”

“Yeah, think about _that_ before you criticize me again,” Manjoume said, sneering, and then he shook his head, his bangs everywhere. “Whatever. Tenjouin-kun and I will put our tournament on, and in the finals, I’ll finally take down Judai, even with those Supreme King powers. I’ll prove myself. I...want to tell him something, after all.”

He wrapped his arms around his knees, pulled tight to his chest, and magic churned in the air, sparking electric through the clouded mist in a thousand miniature storms. The frenzy escalated, the trapped spheres colliding and bursting into sparks that rained down, fragile and small.

And then the world fell.

\---

The world had been knocked out of place, and its components were spinning, loose of the structure they should’ve been tethered to. The two Ojamas were the high-pitched screams in his ears, and then-

\---

The mist had been ripped away. The unforgiving landscape was a memory, choppy green grass below his battered dress shoes. The breeze smelled of salt, and when he turned his head, there was Asuka, her hair gleaming a brilliant golden-white in the sun. Jim had a hand pressed over where his eyepatch should have been, O’Brien at his side, stoic. Johan struggled to stand, Chronos muttering as he put an arm over the student’s shoulders, and when he glanced up, his eyes were a clear green, focused on the sprawl of the ocean -- the waves pushing out towards the horizon, boats bobbing in the harbour. White-winged birds cried out and then dived.

The sky over Duel Academy was the same brilliant cerulean as it usually was.

Sho was in tears.

\---


	10. Suspended

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canon: This chapter mostly takes place in the one-week gap between episodes 155 and 156. Some of Manjoume's dialogue, namely the "saddest one here" bit, is adapted from episode 156.

\---

Not everyone had returned.

At Ayukawa’s insistence, those who did were taken to the medical facility, a modern structure overhanging the beach and with an artificial, slightly-too-welcoming atmosphere that immediately put him on edge, their footsteps loud on the pristine tiles. Bits of sand were dragged in, and Johan and Jim were, naturally, prioritized based on their conditions. Voices from the medical personnel had drifted in the main hall before, at the click of a door, they were cut off, leaving only the slight creak when someone adjusted their position on a too-stiff chair.

Sho looked dazed, his hands clasped between his knees. Fubuki’s stare was set on something outside the massive, curved window, and his expression was unreadable, his chin resting on his knuckles. Manjoume had taken the other seat next to Asuka, although there was still nothing he could say to her.

For awhile, he sifted through the cards that had materialized in his deck holster. A new A-to-Z strategy would make an impression during his next duel, and a tentative deck list was somewhere in the back of his mind, like a piece of notebook paper that had been crumpled up and written over too many times, illegible unless a serious effort was made to decipher it. After shuffling his cards, he sorted them again, monster cards first, then spells and traps. Serious alterations would be needed.

“Stop that.”

“Stop what?”

Sho tensed. “Stop...doing that. It’s distracting.”

“We’re at a school for Duel Monsters. These are my cards. I don’t know what kind of warped expectations  _ you  _ have, but doing this? It’s normal, so get over it.”

“You can be such an asshole,” Sho muttered, and, sneering, Manjoume shuffled again. “Why can’t you just-?”

“Just  _ what _ ?”

The chair tipped over when Sho stood, and Kenzan, suddenly not standing by the wall, grabbed Sho’s arm before he could strike. More tears spilled over, beading on Sho’s glasses, and because he didn’t need  _ any  _ of this, Manjoume left. He made his way to the beach, sat down, and glared at the water, following the steady push and pull of the tide. 

Asuka's heeled boots crunched over the loose sand, and she stopped beside him. "I know that you respect my opinion, which is why I'm telling you this now. I think you should apologize to Marufuji-kun."

"He doesn't-"

"His brother's heart gave out when they were trapped in the other dimension, and it’s not clear what happened after that. On top of everything else, Marufuji-kun is worried about his brother, and we have to acknowledge that as his friends."

The tide continued its motions, endless.

“He won’t acknowledge it himself, so anything I say would be entirely pointless," Manjoume heard himself mutter back, flat and empty. Dead.

"We should find a better spot for this," she stated. 

That spot turned out to be the lighthouse, jutting up from a plain slab of concrete. It made no difference, the late-afternoon sky bright,  _ too  _ bright, and Asuka stood just as straight as the structure itself, her hands clasped tightly behind her back. Too many different things pulled at him then, and, gritting his teeth, he turned away from her, his collar high. Blue pulsed out in different shades, the depth suggested by its darker streaks that were broken, scattered, by the white-green glint from the sun as it scaled every angle of the low crests.

"It's difficult, but I believe that they're coming back. Those closest to us, they haven't reached their true potential yet, and I want to be there for them, even if it's only in some small way or even if waiting for them hurts sometimes." The waves rasped, unceasing and clear, every instance of contact against the concrete followed by a burst of sound. "That's all I want," she said next, in a smaller voice. "I want everyone to come back, and I want to show them a strong side of myself when they do."

"You should go back to the clinic."

When she pivoted, he almost flinched. "Excuse me?"

"I'm...not trying to be...like Fubuki-san," Manjoume began, immediately fucking up and not recovering. At all. Her striking eyes had narrowed, her bangs lashed at by the wind. It picked up, pitching the waves higher. "W-What I mean is that...you should go back to the clinic, so they can help you be strong for...later. Your knees are kinda...bad. And...that bruise, here." Awkward, he batted at his right elbow, and in response, her expression hardened.

"I appreciate your concern, and I plan on going back to meet with Ayukawa-sensei. However, your condition hasn’t improved since I saw you in the other dimension, and I hope you'll come back with me."

"I'm fine. It's all superficial," he said, although he still ducked his head, hating himself for the weak gesture. 

"Manjoume-kun, I still think you should come with me. Ayukawa-sensei, she's an expert."

He wanted his cards back, slotting in the crooked gaps between his fingers, and even the Ojamas would have helped right now, an ugly distraction from something far uglier. There was a maze behind his eyelids, every blink followed by the raw, glistening entrails from the slaughtered guard, interspersed with the demanding, crushing gold of a tyrant, the colour like an asteroid drawing in closer and closer, obliterating everything in its path. It soon eclipsed the slaughtered guard. It then swallowed the cruel smirks of Yubel, etched into Johan’s face. It made him feel a sudden, rising shame, and his closed fists shook, his teeth bared.

“Tenjouin-kun, the events of the Dark World probably aren’t a mystery to you, even if I’ve kept the details back. Now that it’s over, the only things I deserve from you are your judgement and your scorn, nothing else. This is the result because I failed to rescue Judai and defeat Yubel. The chances were there, and yet-”

“Please, stop.”

Slowly, he exhaled, seeing the churning water through a veil of gold. The fear had stayed, a shadow cast by Judai’s outstretched fingers, and he hated it.

“If I’m right about what happened in the other world, then that’s only more of a reason why you should come with me,” Asuka stated, someone kind, warm. “Please, consider it for your own sake.”

“It’s fine. I should wear the scars of my past.”

“I don’t think ignoring this will help you.”

“I’m not...ignoring anything.”

“Come back with me.”

“If you’re making a request, then I’ll do it, of course. You know that.”

She did not answer him at first, and he let the silence drag out, the lighthouse the pillar in his peripheral vision. Stepping closer, she brushed his sleeve with her fingers, curled in. The words were next, soft and painful. “Let’s go,” she said.

The stark scent of cleaning products was inside, the trails of sand from earlier gone, replaced with the pristine sheen of the waiting room’s floor, and he took the same seat a second time, everyone but Edo gone. He faced the window, and unlike Sho, he did not complain about the shuffling. He did not comment when Manjoume accidentally dropped the cards, and his hands stayed clawed for a long moment after, the slanted portraits leaning on each other. Eventually, one of Ayukawa-sensei’s assistants signaled for him to follow her, and the appointment itself was a blur, a suggestion of events. Because their facilities were better than any at Slifer Red, Ayukawa-sensei insisted that he should spend the night at Obelisk Blue, and he technically had a room there, even with some of his stuff in it. She repeated her instructions about changing the bandages twice, because he now had those to take care of, the largest set in a sideways ‘v’ over his right shoulder. There were two appointment cards in his front pocket, the dates and times written in her looping scrawl.

When they let him go, he walked to the harbour, stared at the waiting boats, and after the cold crept in through the holes in his shirt, he turned on his heel, making for the dormitory. He thought about his new deck, the structure completed already. The relief of being here slid off him like rain, the fear drumming in the hollow of his chest, fluttering in tandem with the wingbeats of something small and frail.

It should have been raining outside. The island should have been choked by rain.

The faultless cerulean sky spread as it had earlier, a reflection of a brighter past. It should have been covered in darkness. 

\---

The next day, classes were on, although the expectations were not for any of the 'returned' students to attend. Manjoume did anyways, and any whispers in the lecture hall died when he looked up from his notebook, the small gesture like a challenge that none were foolish enough to take.

Because its repairs were necessary, he had left his coat behind, and even his deck holster had to be swapped out for a spare, the original's clasp broken and the seams splitting open to a dangerous, impractical degree. As the one and only Manjoume Thunder, he rejected cowardly behaviours, and if the white rectangles pressed to his face and hands were  _ distracting  _ for anyone, then they could just deal with it.

The chancellor had already made his announcement about the ‘missing students’, and anyone with the bravery (or, more accurately, stupidity) to ask him for additional details would either be cooly ignored or told of his victories in the other dimension, although the first option was the easier one. The second required more time to fix the contradictions. Doubt could not be allowed. 

The lectures were simple to follow, verging on boring, and the Ojamas, pulling themselves out of his cards and flopping onto the white table, made a show of scampering around the room, alternating between crying on things and giggling to each other. Intangible Ojamas were vastly superior to tangible Ojamas, since the chance of them drooling on him was zero, but the usual negatives remained. Like the noise. And the red underwear. 

Their conversations were pure nonsense, filling the gaps between the lectures. Normally, he would have to make an effort to tune out Sho's Vehicroids, rumbling inside their cards and beeping to each other, or to  _ not  _ stare at the forked shapes of the Cyber Angels, their weapons and sharp features nearing reality and then scattering in brilliant colours. Winged Kuriboh, hooting and bobbing by the ceiling, was the spirit he had the most practice with ignoring, but-

With the final lecture over, he went outside. The first appointment card told him where to go. 

The check-up was meaningless. He thought about what image he would use for the Pro League. It would have to be unique, of course. An extension of his true self. When Ayukawa lowered her voice, clasped her hands, and began recommending a 'specialist', he switched to the A-to-Z deck, the details easier to keep in line. Unnecessary hours passed, and then he was outside again, the medical facility behind him. The situation had not changed. On the beach, he watched the Ojamas torment a crab with their dancing and then be chased into the surf. 

Served them right. 

Animals had a stronger perception of the spirit world than humans, although he only knew that because, on some late night, Judai had flopped onto the ground next to him and explained how-

Manjoume took a deep, rattling breath, and he returned to the cards again, counting the copies of each one. He could start working on the deck that night, beginning the mechanical task of assembling a trial version, and next he barked out an order to the Ojamas, as they were still running from the irate crab, needlessly dodging its swings. 

\---

Of course, there were innumerable advantages to being back on Academy Island, compared with the abysmal conditions of the other dimensions. Here, the other students generally respected or feared him, some taking to bowing at a perfect ninety-degree angle and shouting his title, which he gracefully accepted. No one was carrying a blood-soaked weapon, threatening to steamroll an innocent village, or actively trying to kill slash maim him, all of which he silently appreciated. 

Other notable advantages included the opulent surroundings, mountains of available food, actual bedrooms, running water, and a general lack of cells, bars, guards, and medieval-esque set pieces. His room at Obelisk Blue was immaculate, his card collection divided into neat stacks. 

The new appointment cards (four in total) were a minor inconvenience. He would deal with them, later. For now, they went on the floor, somewhere by his desk.

Restless as always, the Reject Well spirits took up most of the space, even in a lavish, sprawling room like this one. Beast-type spirits formed little groups on the floor and furniture, clicking and purring at each other, and the fairies, as expected, had collected by the windows, their translucent wings phasing through the glass. Because of how outrageously loud they could be, the Dark Scorpions had been banished to the balcony, their cards under a flower pot, although the spirits seemed far too pleased about what was  _ supposed  _ to be a punishment -- clacking their glasses together and laughing as Don Zaloog launched into another story, its muffled details leaking into his room. Their next banishment location would be further away, probably under a trash can. After all, trash should attract more trash.

Manjoume fell onto his bed, his arms spread out, and the Ojamas, already whining about the other spirits, climbed over his legs and settled on his ribcage like three strangely repulsive kittens. Moving them would take effort. Above was a white ceiling. 

In the hallway, he had found Sho -- dazed, his eyes wide behind his round glasses and his hand clasped loosely around the door to his own room. Because Manjoume Thunder valued his pride, he had made a point of giving his condolences, as promised, and Sho had just gazed in his direction, silent at first. The response had made him want to leave. Or to start shouting.

But Sho was the one who started it, surging away from the door and pointing at him, yelling at him. All of it was about Judai, about how he was definitely coming back. He was  _ not  _ dead, and Sho, in tears, had just kept going -- crumbling in place, muttering about how Manjoume’s expression made him sick.  _ “S-Stop looking like it’s all over, because it’s  _ not _. How can you just give up?!” _ The argument exploded from there, soaked with gasoline.

A total disaster.

“He started it, so I’m not groveling a second time. Fuck that,” he mumbled, one arm thrown over his face, and the Ojamas piped up with their needless advice, Ojama Yellow yanking on his eyestalks like a regular person would their hair. It was somewhat worrying that Manjoume had adapted to the grotesque sight. Then again, he  _ was  _ amazing. Obviously. A genius of his generation.

Unlike Ojama Yellow.

“S-So, uh, it’s cool that you, uh, showed that Vehicroid guy who the real boss is, but, uhh-”

“Just spit it out.”

Clearing his throat, Ojama Black was next. “W-Well, our boss is usually not quite so… Uhh…”

“It’s not like Yubel ripped out your vocal cords. Stop slacking.”

“Let’s drop the subject,” was the sudden declaration from Ojama Green, and Manjoume snorted. Ojama courage was a flimsy thing. “Hey, how about- Aaaaargggghhh!”

“If you got your finger stuck in your eye again, I really don’t care, so try to be quiet about it this time,” Manjoume muttered back, but the screeching only doubled. Then, it tripled. Then, the other duel spirits were part of the frenzy, whipping around the room. Had they been tangible, all of his sorted cards would’ve been on the floor and summarily trampled. 

He deserved an award for his patience, an often overlooked trait. If nothing else, the school should compensate him for the added stress of these freeloaders.

The source of the chaos was small, blue, and had pointed ears, currently perked up as a bright twinkle passed over Ruby Carbuncle’s jeweled eyes. With a sidekick like that, Johan could have served as the pretty-boy love interest in one of those magical girl shows, and, swinging himself off the bed, Manjoume contemplated hurling himself off the balcony and then making a run for it. Ruby’s legs were short. Escaping her would be straightforward,  _ far  _ more straightforward than whatever misguided reason had brought her here -- the red orb swaying along with her tail, her meeps sounding in response to the Ojama brothers’ yells. 

The negatives of the balcony exit were as follows.

First. It would mean passing by the Dark Scorpions, who would tease him for the decision. 

Second. The last time he had made that emergency jump, following a particularly bad argument with the Ojamas about their brain-melting choice in television, had not gone  _ exactly  _ as planned. Some of his cards had slipped out, caught the wind, and ended up in the lake.

Third. Johan Andersen was currently hauling himself over the ornate railing, much to the amusement of the drunken band of thieves, cheering him on with full vigor. The other Crystal Beasts were materializing as flickers of intense light, and Manjoume was torn. Storming out of the room worked for him, but this was also  _ his  _ room, making Johan the interloper.

Locking the balcony doors would have helped. A lot.

At least Johan had knocked first before wiggling the handle and then propping the door open, a guilty smile spread wide across his face, and Ruby, meeping, jumped up and settled by his ear, tail swishing even faster than before.

“Uhh… Hope I’m not interrupting anything…?”

“Just a rare moment of peace and quiet,” Manjoume shot back, his arms crossed. It was a half-lie, and Johan cringed a little, Ruby mewling. “But, you know, I’m  _ sure  _ it’ll come back. Although, I hope this chaos caused by your mongrel doesn’t delay it for too long.”

“Hear that, Ruby? You,” Johan chided, booping her nose, “are a ‘mongrel’. Maybe it’s time you stopped chasing the Ojamas.”

“What do you want, Johan?”

Johan’s smile never faltered, and something in his green eyes was challenging. Just meeting them made Manjoume’s nails dig into his sleeves, the strain building.

“So, how about you guys,” Johan began with a wide gesture at the spirits, “go hang out on the balcony for a bit? Those bandits have some entertaining stories. It could be fun, right?”

“Don’t try to reason with them,” Manjoume said, and, predictably, none of the spirits had moved, their expressions set in an ugly series of pouts. The Ojamas were clinging to his jeans, the glares for Ruby. “Still, you’re all annoying, so scram.”

“But-”

In a new record, it only took Manjoume miming himself ripping Ojama Yellow’s card  _ twice  _ before the dejected spirit trudged after the others, sniffling back a drop of snot. Only the three of them were left, which was one too high.

“Lose the cat, or I’m going to stop playing along.” Hesitation showed, and Manjoume went after it, sneering. “Sorry, but you’re in my territory, so either do it or get out.”

With another mew, Ruby rammed the top of her head against Johan’s cheek, which should have been intangible, just an image, but Johan rocked back on his heels, blinking wildly. “Ah, okay then. Try not to cause too much trouble.” Like the other Crystal Beasts, Ruby melded into the light itself, her colour spreading out and changing it, faintly. After a beat, she emerged on the balcony, and through the glass doors, Manjoume watcher her proceed to startle the Ojamas and send two tumbling onto the grass below, a two-story gap. 

“That didn’t take long,” Johan observed, and his stance was awkward, stiff. Manjoume noticed. He did nothing to correct it.

“Get to the point.”

“Okay. I wanted to talk about what happened in the other dimension.”

Those words tore a sigh out of Manjoume, and he considered leaving again, the negatives all smaller than before because- Damn.

Given the option, he would rather let a clumsy moron like Kenzan perform a root canal on him with a pair of pliers than, you know,  _ talk _ to Johan Andersen, who had to remember something. Otherwise, this discussion would not be happening, irrelevant as it was. It could not change the reality. 

“Sorry, but my schedule’s full. You’ll have to try again later. Or  _ not _ .”

“Ah, I was expecting that,” Johan admitted, his laugh nervous. He ran a hand over the back of his neck and up to the crown of his head, strands of disheveled hair sticking up, and the gesture hurt. Achingly familiar, as if-

Yeah. He was leaving.

“Wait, Thunder.”

“ _ Why _ ?” 

“Because the chancellor has recommended for all transfer students to return before the next semester starts, and, sorry, I know it’s selfish and rude and...terrible of me,” Johan quicky admitted, his expression earnest and piercing, “but I’ll regret it if I don’t say anything, so… Will you put up with me? Just for a second?”

No. The  _ right  _ answer was ‘no,’ followed by Manjoume slamming the door and storming down the hallway, the effect diminished without his long coat and its trailing fabric. The balcony was still an option, if he needed the extra drama. 

Taking a deep breath, Manjoume stepped back, and then he turned on Johan, his expression set in a snarl, etched into the matter of his face, and it felt immovable, fused with the bones beneath it. “Let’s get one thing straight,” he began, rasping out the low, violent words, and Johan remained unfazed, a stone wall for him to test his fists on. Fine. Perfect. He kept going. “I have absolutely no interest in reliving the events of the other dimension, and I have  _ no  _ desire to talk about  _ any  _ of it with you. So, really, all of this is a colossal waste of time, which means that this conversation is over and you’re cordially invited to leave me  _ alone _ . Got it?”

No visible reaction, not even when Manjoume let his chin drop, a chuckle winding up his too-tight throat. Everything under the bandages itched, especially the healing cuts on his forehead -- like a tally mark with four vertical lines. It had been like that all day, sensations worming through the walls he put up. They were all useless in the end.

What a pathetic thought.

Much like Judai himself, Johan apparently had the uncanny ability to not-leave a room after being asked to. Or, well, in Manjoume’s case, after being yelled at to. 

“The guilt’s hard to deal with, isn’t it?” was what Johan had decided to say next, every syllable foolish and ugly, hideous. He was still smiling. Manjoume could have punched him. “I struggled against Yubel, but their strength was just too much for me, especially after they separated me from the Crystal Beasts.” Johan’s green eyes narrowed at the corners. His voice softened. “The outside world came to me in flashes, like I was watching a movie that kept skipping ahead. When my strength faded, I could barely see it at all. I’m...lucky that Judai rescued me when he did.”

“Okay.”

“Yubel was serious about going after the two of us. That’s...a weird thing to have in common, isn’t it?”

“At least I didn’t end up wearing ten different belts at once. How embarrassing.”

Another laugh. “Yeah, I’m...not sure how that happened.”

“This conversation is still over, by the way.”

\---

The conversation was not over.

Owing to their low intelligence, the duel spirits had quickly forgotten his orders and made their way back into the room, filling all the free space and forcing him to, again, look at the Ojamas, the brothers huddled in a ball owing to Ruby Carbuncle, who was apparently very terrifying. Despite being a blue hairball. And connected to Johan Andersen of all people, someone not exactly  _ renowned  _ for his intimidating look.

It was a total mystery how Johan had continued to not-leave the room, to the extent that Manjoume had  _ actually  _ ordered in room service, a privilege reserved for the elites of Obelisk Blue. Because sympathy was off-limits, Manjoume had decided that, well, he was bored. Johan could not be described as boring, and so they were hanging out. Sort of.

‘Hanging out’ involved parrying Johan’s attempts at taking the conversation in a more serious direction, but, then again, Manjoume did enjoy the string of victories, minor as they were.

“Shame your deck is now a, err, ‘work in progress,’” Johan said next, spinning around on the desk chair idly. Behind him, the guts of the deck were spread over the surface, the components not fitting together as neatly as they should have. Not that Manjoume was going to admit  _ that  _ part.

Seated in an appropriately decadent chair, he leaned back and crossed his ankles, contemplating his answer for the sake of effect. “Sorry, but some of us prefer not to play the same thing over and over again. It gets old. Although, perhaps you’re not the type to understand that.”

“Ouch. Got me there,” Johan said with a bright laugh, and he watched Ruby chase another pack of beast-type monsters, the Ojamas halfway up a lamp for safety. “Then again, consistency can be valuable for a duelist. Making changes just because you  _ can  _ doesn’t always work out, or...maybe I’m just skeptical.”

Wait. “Are... _ you  _ criticizing  _ my  _ style?”

“No way,” Johan replied, the smile impish. “If I was gonna do  _ that _ , I’d start with your colour palette. It’s kinda strange for a duelist with colourful monsters to wear all black, after all.”

“Says the guy wearing a lilac v-neck with… Are those hearts?”

“Hmm?” Looking down, Johan pulled on one sleeve, squinting at the pattern. “Yeah, I think so. It’s kinda subtle, but it’s cute, right?”

“Not even close.”

“Ah, you’re too harsh…”

“Seriously?  _ That’s  _ too harsh for you?!”

Only Johan Andersen would pair a heart-patterned, lilac v-neck shirt with distressed jeans, torn at the knees, and brown-green hiking boots, cracked by the heels. In Manjoume’s opinion, which should always be taken seriously, he looked like a boy band member doing an ‘outdoors’ concept, the sort of thing that involved singing on the edges of cliffs and, like, posing in front of trees. 

The knock on the door was an inconvenience, one that Manjoume, feeling like weights had been strapped to his limbs, considered ignoring simply because he could. Even a modicum of power was glorious. He enjoyed it briefly, sinking further into the chair. 

“Uh… Shouldn’t you-?”

“Making the other person wait establishes a better power dynamic,” Manjoume drawled out, waving one hand. “It’s a standard procedure, for one as important as myself.”

“...Right.”

Rolling his eyes, he made for the door, and when he swung it open, there was a puffy-faced Marufuji Sho, his hands hanging limp by his sides. “I can hear your complaining from the stairwell,” he muttered, avoiding eye contact. “I wouldn’t be surprised if one of the other students reported you for it. Most people don’t yell indoors, you should know.”

“Sorry, but all complaints should be directed to my secretary. Bye.”

Before Manjoume could neatly shut the door, Sho had stuck a foot in the gap. “Just… If you could- Oh. J-Johan…?”

\---

With three people in the room, the setup was a triangle, and it gave the eerie impression that they would each, in turn, carve out their feelings and play a game of show-and-tell. The spirits were a faded mess of colours, their voices faint, and Sho was a different kind of mess -- his skin red and blotchy, his uniform jacket buttoned incorrectly.

And then the crying started.

“H-Hey, you believe that Aniki is coming back, don’t you? I heard him say that he would, after he went on a journey to find himself. His...new self, I guess.” Hiccuping, Sho wiped at his chin and nose with the back of his sleeve. The view outside the window showed a blue sky, fading at the edges. The desk chair creaked when Johan rose. “Manjoume-kun, he...doesn’t believe me at all, which… H-How could you just-?”

The surface of the lake was still, faultless. 

“He’s coming back,” Johan stated. “I mean, if Judai’s going on a journey like that, then he owes me a souvenir. That’s enough to make him visit at least.”

Because of the sniffling, Sho’s reply was delayed. “Y-Yeah. After how Yubel attacked him, pushing him so far during their duel, it would be so unfair if the outcome was...him leaving his friends forever. Or…”

“Hm?”

Hurried, Sho whispered, “I’m also more selfish than that. I want to see him again. I...really want that.”

“That’s not selfish, it’s actually-”

Manjoume decided to stop listening, and he sat on the far corner of his bed, letting his right foot twitch and bounce slightly off the carpet below, like a piston disconnected from the rest of the machine. Again, his thoughts ran towards the new deck, somehow further and further away from being completed, despite his modifications to its structure. The problems would, naturally, unravel themselves over time, the gears of his analytical mind working through the night, and the end result would be a bold, stunning victory, each step following his own style,  _ his  _ guidance. 

Anything else would be unacceptable, of course.

“-and, what? No input from  _ you _ ?”

Sho’s attention was on him, and Manjoume clicked his tongue. “Why would my opinion change?”

“So, you think Aniki, Misawa-kun, and the others are gone forever?”

“Sho, maybe…” Johan left the sentence hanging, and his awkward stance had the opposite effect on Manjoume, now even  _ more  _ sure that his approach was the correct one. 

“I’m being practical. You should try it sometime,” was what Manjoume shot back with, and Sho’s jaw tightened. He looked nothing like the cardboard cutout of a person who used to cling to first-year Judai. “There’s a high probability that we’re about to have a year without a certain fried-shrimp thief and lectures that aren’t interrupted by him being late all the time.”

“Huh. Guess I’m the idiot for expecting  _ some  _ optimism from  _ you _ ,” Sho ground out, but it was without venom, the words flat. Suddenly, he stood up. “Also, you shouldn’t leave appointment cards on the floor like that. You’ll cause trouble for Ayukawa-sensei if you start missing them.”

Scoffing, Manjoume leaned back, an eyebrow raised to maximize the condescending effect. “Stop acting like you care.”

“You can be such a jerk,” Sho muttered in response, and then he sighed, a hand passing over his tired face. “Also,  _ you  _ have to let me know when you’re leaving, okay? I’m sure some others from our class would like to send you off, especially after everything’s that happened.”

“Yeah, of course! Me and the Crystal Beasts aren’t too good with crowds, but we can make an exception this time,” Johan said, and Sho sighed again.

“Okay, I’ll see you later. Oh, and I’d advise leaving this room before Manjoume-kun’s horrible attitude starts to affect you.”

“Tch. Try not to trip on your way out.”

With that, Sho left, and Manjoume’s look settled on Johan next, the other duelist standing by the desk and fidgeting with the frayed end of his belt, the studs scratched. “Well, it’s been fun, and I’ll-”

“Did you lie to Sho?”

“...Excuse me?”

“About Judai coming back. Do you  _ actually  _ believe that?”

Johan straightened. “Yes, I do.”

In hindsight, sending the spirits out of the room earlier had been a flawed tactic, as they were prone to eavesdropping and sneaking into off-limits areas. The jumbles of colours and shapes throughout the room, scattered as they were, indicated that the usual troublemakers would be preoccupied. Bordered by emptied bottles, the Dark Scorpions were passed out and drooling on each other, their default state. 

“You’ll understand the details faster than Sho. That’s the only reason I’m telling  _ you _ specifically, so don’t come to the wrong conclusion.”

“...Okay?”

“Even if Judai _ could _ come back, that doesn’t mean he  _ will _ , not after what happened in the Dark World. ...I bet you’re curious, aren’t you? Under that clueless demeanor, you’re probably  _ dying  _ for all the details.”

“I mean, I’d use a different word than ‘clueless’ for it,” Johan said, meaningless. A placeholder response, because he was  _ thinking _ , his eyes narrowed again. Ruby’s behaviour was another sign, the cat spirit sitting perfectly straight at his feet, fixated on her master. Overall, it was almost too easy, and Manjoume laughed to himself, shaking his head.

“Johan, I was trapped in the Supreme King’s castle. That’s why I have  _ this  _ to deal with,” he stated, tapping his forehead, and when he rolled up his sleeve -- the handprint faded but present, intersected with red lines that formed low ridges as they healed and led to darker patches of raw, exposed red -- Johan stepped back, his gasp audible. “My right shoulder is the worst part, since the guards weren’t exactly gentle when they dragged me around. Although,” he added as he shoved the fabric back down, meeting Johan’s gaze and sneering, “I’m supposed to keep it wrapped up. You’ll just have to take my word for it.”

“Yubel...let me hear some of what happened, when we were in the cave together, and… Manjoume, I’m sorry that happened to you. I...can’t imagine-”

“I’m not asking you to. Just listen to me,” he ordered, raising himself to his full height. “The Supreme King’s torture didn’t stop there. He killed his prisoners in front of me. He starved me, and if my escape plan hadn’t worked, he would have dismembered me, personally.” 

“That’s-”

“Did I  _ say  _ I was done?” Snorting, Manjoume continued. “So, considering  _ all  _ of that, let’s move on to the next subject, shall we? Maybe you’re already familiar with Yubel’s theory of the Supreme King, that he’s a construction of Judai’s heart. They’re divided, in a sense, but they’re also connected, which is where the problem lies. Yubel  _ possessed  _ you, Johan, but Judai’s case isn’t the same.”

Johan was fast, cutting off Manjoume before he could interrupt. “I mean, there was a kind of fusion with Yubel and I. I think. Sort of. They were taking a lot of my memories, so things...blurred for awhile.” The laugh was awkward. “Ha, guess I’m not making any sense.”

“Not any less than usual.”

“...I’m not sure what means.  _ But _ ,” Johan blurted out, earning him a glare from the person who  _ should  _ have spoken next, “from what I understand, Judai is the Supreme King because he holds the Gentle Darkness. That power, it’s always been with him. To be honest, I’m pretty sensitive to that sort of thing, and when I first met Judai, I  _ knew  _ he was different. Something like deja vu washed over me.”

“Huh. Good thing you told everyone about that- Oh, wait. No. No, you  _ definitely  _ didn’t warn us about Judai’s magical alter ego. Thanks, Johan. That was  _ great _ .”

The sarcasm did nothing except make Johan laugh, his hand passing over the crown of his head again. “Go easy on me. My senses aren’t that sharp. Plus, all things considered, the rest of you had probably already figured out Judai was unique. Or...am I giving you too much credit, Thunder?”

“Another comment like that, and I will throw you into the lake.”

“...Better not risk it.” When Manjoume’s glare intensified, Johan returned to the main subject, that intelligent gleam back in his eyes, and it told Manjoume be careful. “The actions of the Supreme King, they’re terrible, and I don’t want to seem dismissive of that, especially not to you. Still, I believe the same thing I have since Judai rescued me. I doubt that will ever change.”

“Huh. You really are a fool,” Manjoume said, and he sank onto his bed again, leaning back on his palms. Outside, the forest was like a series of rough brushstrokes, inverted v-shapes topping the canopies and continuing past the window frame. “Whatever. Just don’t come crying to  _ me  _ when nothing changes.”

Johan should have left, or at least  _ started  _ to leave. The cat spirit purred after she rammed her head against Johan’s ankle, and Manjoume watched the contact drag out. 

“You’re pretty incredible, you know.”

“Uhh… Obviously,” Manjoume replied, although the praise had made him skeptical. Johan scratched Ruby behind the ears, her tail flicking up.

“Even having to endure that side of the Supreme King, it hasn’t made you give up on Judai, not at all.”

“Being brainwashed and hurting a bunch of people seems to be a prerequisite for graduating,” Manjoume stated, deadpan. “Congratulations on getting that done, by the way.”

“Yeah, but-”

“Wow. It sure is late.”

“Ah, I pushed things too far…”

“Huh. So you  _ noticed _ that.”

“Although, you’ve always been like this when it comes to him… Must be a rival thing.”

On second thought, lifting Johan, throwing him off the balcony, and dragging him to the lake would be challenging, considering that the North Academy student was, well, muscular. And slightly taller than him. Slightly. Like,  _ barely _ .

In comparison, shoving him out of the door was the superior option, and when Manjoume advanced, Johan retreated, his hands up in a ‘surrender’ gesture. It had no effect.

“O-Okay! It sure is late, so I’ll just-”

“Good. Get out.”

“You’re...sort of...in front of the door… Ha, ha...”

“Like going out the window is a problem for  _ you _ ,” Manjoume muttered, and he moved away, his arms crossed tightly. Johan did step forward, even though his expression was pathetic, Ruby with her ears down as she lifted her front paws and mewled, and- Fine.

_ Fine _ . 

When Manjoume slapped his hand over the handle, Johan was obviously startled, and the little bit of humor that gave him brought a jagged smirk to his face, present even though the sentences were jamming in his throat. While it was immensely valuable for a duelist, an observant nature could be a double-edged sword in other situations, such as the totally-normal one where a bat-winged demon from outer space (sort of) takes over your rival’s new best friend and calmly states that all  _ three  _ of them are in love with said rival.

Three.

A value greater than two, which he didn’t need a nerd-brain like Misawa Daichi to analyze the implications of.

“That look means you’ll just come back to bother me later.”

“Ah, you think pretty lowly of me,” Johan said, wincing. “Although, maybe it’s best to clear things up between us, at least to avoid any misunderstandings.”

“And what  _ exactly  _ would I misunderstand?”

“Well, I love Judai,” was Johan’s reply, given with a casual shrug. “I think I always will, with everything that I have. Still, my feelings aren’t exactly… How do I phrase this?” 

“Don’t look to me for an answer…”

“If the circumstances were different, I would wish you luck.”

“...What?”

Johan laughed, which was not an explanation. He even had the audacity to kneel and pat Ruby again, none of which helped Manjoume at all, the confused other half of the conversation and the owner of the room they were in. Interlopers should try to minimize the disturbances they caused.

Overall, Johan took an ungodly amount of time to pet the fucking cat, so long that Manjoume resorted to shaking him by the collar. It had the intended effect.

“H-Hey, how-?”

“‘Wish you luck’?! With  _ what _ ?!”

“Uh… The confession, of course.”

Manjoume dropped him, Johan’s eyes comically wide as he pinwheeled his arms for balance. Ruby was a furious puffball. “In case you hadn’t noticed, it’s impossible to do that without the other person. Plus, you know, the fact that the person in question is an idiot like Yuki Judai.”

“You’re a bit  _ too  _ cynical, Thunder. Or...maybe you’re just shy?”

_ That  _ was what did it -- the final play that made Manjoume, groaning to himself, throw the door open and shove Johan into the hallway, the scene ruined somewhat by Johan’s big, stupid smile and the cast of equally happy, bumbling animals who had suddenly reappeared. Amber Mammoth's head stuck through the ceiling. More cat spirits ran into circles around their controller, the colours alone enough to give Manjoume a headache, and when he moved to slam the door, Johan chirped out, “Let’s duel next time instead, especially since something tells me you’d make it a serious one, riight?”

“I’d show you who the  _ real  _ champion of North Academy is. Look forward to that.”

Smiling even wider, Johan nodded. That expression fit perfectly. “I will.”

Click.

"I hate that guy," Manjoume said to himself. Because they missed any and all social cues, the Ojamas felt the need to give their opinions. It happened in the usual order -- Yellow, Black, Green. 

"I mean, he's  _ okay _ … N-Not as cool as you though."

"He  _ was _ here for hours…"

"Those Crystal Beasts have no manners at all. Like, did you hear what-?"

Flinging his arm out, he got two out of three, the surprised 'eeps' followed by bursts of pink confetti. The second strike got Ojama Yellow, and, taking notice, the remaining spirits faded even further into the background, melding with the lines of the furniture. A silence reigned, until it was interrupted by the steady fall of his footsteps over the carpet. Leaning down, a stiff movement that pulled at the knitted tissues spanning his right shoulder, he picked up the appointment cards and dropped them on the desk, over the machine-type cards that were in a kind of organized chaos, the positions making sense only when he focused on them, the connections fragile. 

When he fell back on the bed again, he let his eyes shut. He sunk into the soft blankets, his head thrown back. He should have been instantly knocked out from the comfort alone, his thoughts fuzzy and strange, flowing together and then fading. And yet he was still awake, conscious of everything from the soft fibers pressed against the backs of his hands to the faint beat-beat-beat of his heart. He had missed this quiet, heavy now that it had settled in place. If he waited long enough, the spirits would return, as they always did. Their low voices and snores would be like the roll of distant waves or the chimes of birdsong, and, eventually, his thoughts had rolled and gathered into something coherent. 

Yes, he  _ did  _ hate Johan, because he had hid the despair about Judai’s unknown fate far too well. Ruby alone was the key, and she had strayed back to his side again and again, brushing against him and warbling out comments that Manjoume understood even though he didn't want to after the pieces had clicked, her purrs all reassurances repeated over and over. It was the curse of a spirit master like himself, the head of his own pack of dumb misfits.

He had not been tricked by Johan's act, all smiles and kind words.

"He probably thinks he's the saddest one here," Manjoume mumbled, his eyes shut. What a joke. "Sorry, Crystal Boy, but you can't win against me there. No competition."

A total victory 

\---

Many things were different.

For one thing, there was a notable absence of a robe-wearing upstart by the name of Amon Garam, who Manjoume would have struggled to say anything  _ positive  _ about, especially knowing that he was a confirmed megalomaniac with no regard for human life. 

Plus, he played Cloudians. Even Ojamas had more visual impact. 

Misawa's absence was at its strongest during their math lectures, which should have featured an obligatory ten-to-twenty minute interlude during which the Ra Yellow student would talk about  _ something  _ with their teacher that was definitely not the answer to the question on the board. Blah, blah, blah. Elliptic curves. More random words. Something something Fermat.

After the third day, Asuka returned to their classes, and Sho was there on the fourth, although he said nothing. He also didn't move his supplies out his bag. None of the staff scolded him for it.

More importantly, Manjoume's coat had been returned with the obvious tears fixed and the worst of the stains washed out -- the traces of mud and blood obliterated. Wearing such things would have been too disgusting in this setting, the normal, plain halls of his own school. A chemical smell had clung to the fabric at first, but it was overlooked, the familiar fall of that coat over his shoulders completely worth it. It reformed his iconic silhouette. 

He had scrapped the A-to-Z deck a thousand times. He had declared it 'unsalvageable' a thousand times more, and yet it kept working at it, piecing together the worn pieces before scattering them. It was like a reflex, one that he caught himself doing during his next medical appointment. Daily stretches were needed for his shoulder, to preserve the range of motion. Ayukawa checked his progress. It was boring but necessary.

No news came in about the other dimension.

As he had predicted.

\---

_ “Are...you writing poetry?” _

_ Startled, Manjoume had dropped his pen, and, picking up momentum, it rolled down the cliffside and into the water, which was not convenient. At all. _

_ Strangling Judai did not work out, as usual, and, cursing to himself, Manjoume went for his second strategy instead -- ignoring Yuki Judai. It could be highly effective, because his rival was gifted with an extremely limited attention span and would  _ sometimes  _ go bother another individual instead. _

_ Not today, apparently. Fanning himself against the heat, Judai sat down, cross-legged, next to him. The rock formation, which Fubuki had described as ‘inspirational’, overlooked the ocean. Fubuki had also claimed that writing poetry was just like winning a duel, but, if he was honest, Manjoume was starting to doubt that statement. His notebook contained many crossed-out words and one pathetic verse, unworthy of having his name attached to it. _

_ Challenging Asuka to a second love duel was one alternative. _

_ “...Your face is like a cherry blossom, and your dueling is really a-awesome.” When the giggles started, Manjoume processed what had happened, namely that Judai was now holding his notebook and visibly shaking, a hand slapped over his mouth. The giggles continued, and Manjoume yanked the notebook back, pointedly closing it. “W-What a lady killer. I should go warn the girls at O-Obelisk B-Blue, pffffft- Ah! Let go, let go!” _

_ “Disposing of your corpse would be a pain,” Manjoume ground out, pure ice, before he released Judai, who promptly sat down again, rubbing at his neck. “Here, I just came up with one for you, free of charge.” _

_ “Really? Let’s hear it.” Judai’s look had turned expectant, those amber eyes on him. They glinted in the sunlight like embers, like- _

_ Right. The poem. _

_ “Yuki Judai plays Elemental Heroes, which he mistakenly thinks are cool. His life points will always be zeroes, at the end of every single foolish duel,” Manjoume stated, and Judai stared at him for a beat before, again, breaking out into giggles, his white teeth flashing when he grinned -- wide and easy, bracketed by two dimples. _

_ “Not bad, not bad… It could use some more compliments though.” _

_ “I’m aiming for accuracy.” _

_ “Hmmm…” Trailing off, Judai adjusted his position, his knees against his chest and his hands dangling over his boots, splattered with mud. With every pulse of the wind, strands of light hair separated from the darker ones, and then they swayed back again, tracing the angles of his face with thin, curving shadows. “You know, I’ve never had a poem written about me before,” was how Judai started, his grin impish. The rise and fall of his voice changed. “Why, Thunder, are you turning your charms on me?” _

_ “W-W-What?!” Manjoume blurted out before he realized that, oh,  _ shit _ , answering Judai had been a trap, a no-win scenario. That grin spread, and maybe from this distance, Judai could actually hear the frantic beat-beat-beat of his heart. It became even faster. Judai was holding his stare, all confidence and focus, gathering in the depths of his eyes as a heat crept up Manjoume’s face and- _

_ No. No, not  _ happening.

_ But running away didn’t work at all, Judai’s long fingers clasping around his wrist when he tried to stand. The contact was a shock, and their eyes met again, Judai’s the same as before -- memorizing, impossible. The warmth of his hold was- _

_ Manjoume ripped his wrist free, staggering back from the intensity of the motion, and every warning possible was blaring inside his skull, telling him to say  _ something  _ and then make that tactical retreat. Everything between them would reset to how it usually was, and Judai wouldn’t know. Judai  _ couldn’t  _ know. _

_ “Uh, Thunder?” _

_ “Just leave me alone,” he snapped, and Judai’s eyes widened. Whatever that  _ look  _ meant, he didn’t want to understand it, not when that fucking  _ blush  _ was still rising on his own face. Damn it. “Fine, I get that you like pushing people’s boundaries, but maybe just devote one second of actual  _ thought  _ to how others feel for once. Or, what, is that  _ impossible  _ for an idiot like you?” _

_ Hurt. _

_ That was the word for it, forming against his will, despite his efforts to  _ not  _ stare at Judai.  _

_ Judai looked hurt.  _

_ “Uh, sorry. I didn’t mean to-” _

_ “Like I even care. And, by the way,  _ don’t  _ follow me. Got it?” _

_ “...Yeah, but-” _

_ Manjoume was gone, even though taking that direction just got him lost in the forest, the sprawling canopy cutting the afternoon light, and he continued, aimless, for a long time, pushing away the growing awareness that, yes, he had just fucked  _ everything  _ up. If Judai knew, then-  _

_ “No, he doesn’t. No way,” Manjoume mumbled to himself, and, breathing out, he peered up at the sky, trying to get his bearings. The plan from there had been to ignore Judai until the source of those feelings writhed up and died, like a weed that had stupidly tried to grow up from a crack between two slabs of concrete. It should not have survived in the first place. It had been trampled down so many times. _

\---

_ And yet it hadn’t died at all. The attempts to rip it out were futile, and eventually, Manjoume had stopped trying.  _

_ He had a crush on his rival, the person who was his first real friend. The feeling was terrifying. It made him vulnerable in a million new ways, and yet it was undeniable. It wouldn’t leave. _

_ It was the truth. _

\---

Seven days after their return, absolutely nothing had changed. Sho’s spaced-out demeanor in class meant that Asuka would likely be the only remaining competition for Manjoume taking first place in their year. Originally, it had been a four-way split.

Fubuku had been the one to suggest meeting at Slifer Red, essentially serving as the second abandoned dorm on campus, with the exception of Rei. Evicting her from the Manjoume Room would take a demolition crew, not a new security system. Sure, the grounds at Obelisk Blue  _ were  _ immaculate, but the urge to try out a couple of bulldozers against that total  _ brat  _ was very, very tempting.

It would be worth it, even if he had to rebuild his own damn room.

"Asuka mentioned that you're hosting a tournament together."

Fubuki's strides were longer than his own, and the upperclassman's attention was on the dismal building coming into view, the faded red of its leaky, uneven roof against a darkening sky -- like a crumpled leaf floating over deep water. "Yes, we are. We're having a meeting about it next Friday, after our lectures."

"Ah, I see," Fubuki said, smiling to himself. "I assume that the Ojamas are excited to take the stage?"

Asuka had already arrived, leaning against the door frame, and she waved at them. The network of scratches that had spanned her arms and legs were gone, faded. "If everything goes according to plan, those loudmouths be benched for the entire tournament, from start to finish. ...After my next revisions to the deck."

"Hmm. Sounds exciting."

“It...should be. Thank you for your support.”

“Well, I haven’t done anything, but I’ll take the compliment,” Fubuki replied, and the appearance of Pharaoh the cat happened in stages. First, the loud yowl, a warning that the walking mound of fleas and shedding hair was approaching. Second, the crash of something falling from inside the dormitory itself. Third, the grand view of the pudgy cat himself, standing in the middle of the doorway and blinking slowly. 

“Apparently that Judai-obsessed girl has been feeding him,” Sho mumbled, elbowing his way past Manjoume (rude) and then kneeling down to scratch Pharaoh’s ears, the resulting purr a deep, content rumble. “Probably  _ overfeeds  _ you, knowing how she is…”

“Like you’d do anything differently.”

After scooping up the cat with both hands, Asuka led the way inside, the furniture in its usual state of disarray. “Can you two try  _ not  _ arguing for ten minutes?”

“Right. Sho should preserve his energy for the tournament.”

“I swear you’re this stupid on purpose,” was Sho’s mumbled comeback, and Manjoume sneered at him.

A thin layer of dust divided the sections of the tables that Pharaoh frequented from those that used to feature the meal trays of students or, later in the day, their informal duels. Following the school’s return from Yubel’s first dimension, most of the Slifer Red students had ended up in the Ra Yellow dorms or were in the process of begging for an open room, and, with Pharaoh as their idol, the bunch of mooches and low-lives had evidently succeeded.

The floor was marked with arcing scratches from chairs being roughly pulled out. Every table had its own set of stains and scratches. Some were tallies, marking unofficial win-loss ratios.

It was Fubuki that spoke next. “We’ve had a unique experience. Reminiscing might help all of us find some peace.” With his elegant features shadowed, he ruffled Pharaoh’s fur. 

\---

Sho had, naturally, ran out at the first  _ real _ argument, and Manjoume, hunched over a table with his chin balanced on his knuckles, scoffed at the dark look Kenzan shot him. “Keep that up, Dino Boy, and I’ll make the mistake of thinking you’re actually  _ friends  _ with Sho.”

“You really think you’re the saddest one here?”

“...What?”

“That’s what you blurted out, right after Sho left,” Kenzan explained, and when Pharaoh wandered close, ‘Dino Boy’ was the next person to willingly cover his entire shirt in cat hair. The purring intensified, sounding like someone had turned on a small lawnmower, and the Ra Yellow student -- perhaps unaware of the focus Manjoume was devoting to this interaction, suspicions layered on top of suspicions -- continued as he ruffled Pharaoh’s unkempt fur. “I mean, I’d criticize you for it, but Judai-no-aniki might scold me for going after his rival when he’s down.”

“You shouldn’t  _ scold  _ your upperclassman under these circumstances. Of course, regardless of that,  _ I’m  _ Manjoume Thunder, so the question becomes where  _ you  _ get off daring to criticize me at  _ all _ ?”

A fang showed when Kenzan grimaced, and Pharaoh, grumbling, jumped off his lap with a heavy thud. It was wise to clear the area, especially if that foolish Ra Yellow continued to advance. Which he did.

“Then again, maybe Judai-no-aniki would tell me to go ahead and duel.”

“Sounds like you don’t have enough courage to duel me on your own. That’s understandable, considering my position.” He finished with a grin, showing teeth.

The duel would’ve happened.

It would’ve happened even though Manjoume’s deck was a half-functioning chimera of machine-type cards and Ojamas, who had forced their way in and crashed  _ any  _ coherent strategy that he had formed. Maybe irritating his opponent into forfeiting could be a viable win condition. Kenzan would have been the first test of that, had that night carried out differently. Already, he had felt the energy that built up towards victory, branching between his fingertips and curling in the air, and his grin had turned cruel, promising violence. 

The other duelist would have been a convenient target dummy to pulverize, to shatter into tiny, pathetic pieces that would have been without meaning to him, like minuscule shards of glass. For all his  _ posturing,  _ Kenzan's will could never have matched his own. It would have cracked open, showing all of its weaknesses like the bared crystals of a geode. 

Maybe Manjoume would have gone too far with a duel like that, taunting more and more to build the pressure of defeat. Maybe the surge of cruelty would have masked everything else, even if it was just for one moment. Even if he came to regret it later, another flaw of his tattered past. 

That morning, he had woken up drenched in sweat, clawing at the tangled sheets in the near-dark while the spirits cried to each other in worry, the expressions impossible. They never should have pitied him, their leader. In the dreams, he had been a spectator, standing with clenched fists while innocents were methodically broken down in front of him, and they had all begged and pleaded until the end. Drunk off the metallic scent of blood in the air, hordes of demons had screamed in favour, all hailing their leader with raised weapons, with cries for more gore to be shown. The viscera had stayed behind his eyelids all day, contorting into new shapes. 

No, he would have not been a merciful opponent. He would not have yielded, spurned on by the things that were a part of him now, lodged deep inside him like shrapnel.

But there was no duel at all. The first yell from Sho had made the others straighten, straining to hear the distant, frantic words. The second was clearer.

It shouldn't have been possible, no matter how badly he had wanted it to. Such childish impulses had been cut out of himself.

And yet, numb, Manjoume had stood up and followed the others outside. The stars were out in full. 

It shouldn't have happened. Sho, running towards the dormitory, waved his arms rapidly, the tears covering his red face because, yeah, Sho  _ would  _ cry over this. The universe still had to make  _ some  _ sense. It was an axiom -- scenes involving Yuki Judai returning to Academy Island made Marufuji Sho into more of an embarrassing emotional wreck than usual. Manjoume made a point of standing at least two meters away from him, the tears launching like projectiles when Sho spun around to address the person walking sheepishly behind him, a hand clasped over the back of his neck. His eyes were trained on the dirt path. Their amber colour was familiar, segmented by dark eyelashes and the jagged fall of his too-long bangs. He stopped at the end of the path. 

Like this, he could not be looked away from. He was unreal, too perfect. Too  _ Judai _ , right down to the awkward tilt of his head as he glanced up, bringing the light into his eyes. Inside them was a faint spark, at its strongest during a clash, and Manjoume had forgotten how this felt. Somehow, despite  _ everything _ , he had forgotten what it was like to look at Judai -- all the details crashing together into something overwhelming, like he was alone, completely alone, with just this other person, the axis that the world turned on. The sliver of distance was nothing. The creeping passage of these seconds was meaningless, insignificant. 

Asuka had already ran forward and grabbed his arms, her own tears barely kept back while Judai stammered a reply, one Manjoume could not hear. Kenzan was next, smacking Judai on the back and making him wince. Fubuki nodded, and whatever his response was made them all laugh, Judai the center of it all. The details rotated again, and when the new image snapped into place, Judai was staring back at him. His eyes really were the right colour, down to the brighter rings around his pupils, and this contact, this  _ reality _ , was too much to take, Manjoume closing his eyes for a moment, dizzy.

This was actually happening. 

“You’re late, slacker.”

When he blinked, Judai was still there, glancing away in that almost-shy way that did terrible, terrible things to his composure. It always had. Judai’s smile was even worse, in how easily it went through him, striking his defenses down, and, fuck it, Manjoume smiled back. 

“Skipping classes is sort of my specialty, so I didn’t want to disappoint you,” Judai stated, laughing to himself, and it was his voice, no one else's. 

Judai was alive.

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> grabs the microphone. Time for season 4.


	11. Enraptured

\---

Drip, drip-

\---

It was raining outside, the drops thick over the backdrop of the trees, and some impacted the glass, streaking down it in uneven lines. Adjacent to the massive, sprawling bed, typical for an Obelisk Blue dormitory room, a window had been left open, and the water that dripped inside wet the curtains with dark starburst-like marks, more splattered over the carpet.

Drenched in sweat, Manjoume Jun was extremely awake.

In the nightmare, everything had been dark, the hard textures of that cell back in full force, emboldened by the shock that had slammed into him, and he wanted to get over it immediately,  _ quickly _ . He wanted to smack the Ojamas away, as they had clustered around him, the worry stark and hideous, insulting because he should’ve been great. Or fine, at least.

And yet he could barely move, stunned and taking deep, sinking breaths that did nothing to clear his head. Drip, drip, drip-

Focus.

His hands were clenched in the high thread-count sheets, totally unlike  _ anything  _ found in that decrepit wreck of a castle, especially in the dungeons. The cell had stunk of rot, the air damp and cloying, and its confines had ended in a set of rust-eaten bars, some flakes brittle enough to break off. Ahead of him now was the expanse of an elite dorm room, filtered by the morning glow that pressed through the curtains and streamed through the one gap, bordered by raindrops. 

The villains had been eliminated, unless Yubel was hiding under his desk. Which was unlikely, not to mention ridiculous.

And, seized with a new energy, he swatted at the Ojamas and then got up, shutting the window with a definitive ‘click’. In a helpful move, no one had transported the island to a hostile dimension overnight.

Breakfast was next, and while Manjoume Thunder, true to his refined image,  _ always  _ had attention to spare for his fans, this was also not a morning that he felt charitable. At all. When a tight-knit group of students in full Obelisk Blue relegia approached him in the hallway, he waited for their introduction, although his patience decreased like a lit fuse, each millisecond bringing the flame closer to the bomb.

“Manjoume Thunder, we were, ah, s-sort of wondering if-”

Another student interrupted the first. He could not remember their names. “You’re the one putting on a tournament with Tenjouin-kun, right?”

Something about the address irked him. “Yeah. What about it?”

Letting out a whistle, the student, now called Red-Hair Guy, continued. “Hey, congratulations, first of all. I’ve been trying to get a group assignment with her ever since, like, first year. Since we’d have to meet after school hours, maybe even in her dorm room…”

Of all the actions Red-Hair Guy  _ should  _ have taken next, the top three were as follows: one, immediately apologize for speaking about Asuka that way; two, slam his head against the tiled floor in a desperate attempt to grovel and beg for forgiveness; and three, swear on his own life never,  _ never  _ approach Asuka again.

And yet, the action Red-Hair Guy took next was to stagger forward, prop an arm up on Manjoume’s shoulder, and lean against it. The fuse had started again and was inching down at a rapid pace, even faster when Red-Hair Guy leered and then muttered, “Whatever happened between the two of you must’ve been good. Maybe you should share with the rest of us, or at least give us spots in your brackets. You know, for a chance at-.”

\---

Conveniently, the main nurse’s office was in the Obelisk Blue complex, and Manjoume already knew the way there. 

“Hurry up,” he snapped over his shoulder, taking long strides down the hallway. “Also, try not to get any blood on the floor.”

“Y-Y-Yes,” stuttered out the nearest student, one of three supporting the bulk of Red-Hair Guy. At the next glare, he made the correction. “I-I mean, y-yes, Manjoume Thunder, Pride of Duel Academy.”

Showing teeth, Manjoume grinned and turned around again, the Ojamas looping through their fourth set of cheers. For a musclehead, Red-Hair Guy had gone down pretty quickly when Manjoume, choking on the anger that had surged white-hot through him, had pivoted and rammed a fist against his unsightly face, instantly sending the taller student to his knees. Half of the observers, seeing the drops of red nose blood, had fled, and Manjoume did not let the remaining three move, pinning them in place with only his stare. Cowards were easy to order around. He had faced them with the confidence of a ruler, making them his subjects. 

He found Ayukawa at the door to her office, unlocking it with one hand. She did not pause the motion at all, although her stance did change. 

“-and bring him inside,” was what Manjoume caught, and the guilty students hauled their pathetic cargo into the office. He laughed at the sight.

Ayukawa did not seem impressed by that.

“I didn’t realize I was on garbage cleanup today, but, whatever. I’m clearly good at it,” Manjoume mumbled to himself, shrugging, and when he turned to leave, she bristled, earrings clacking together. “I apologize for the intrusion, and I know what this looks like, but I’m not the one who started it.”

“There are rules, Manjoume-kun. Please wait in my office with the others.”

Whatever. He went along with it, smirking at the panicked expressions of the other students. Red-Hair Guy was, of  _ course _ , fine, once his nose was wrapped in an extraordinary amount of bandages, and his struggles were  _ truly  _ entertaining when Ayukawa, rigidly formal as she sorted her used equipment, approached the cause of the ‘incident’.

The resolution was something Manjoume had to imagine, one of her assistants appearing next and taking him to a different room. His knuckles continued to sting, the faint pain branching into his still-wrapped right shoulder. 

The ‘incident’ left him with a warning on his behaviour from the chancellor, an ear-splitting lecture from Chronos-sensei, and a strange look from Ayukawa when he left the main office, the preamble for how she, suddenly, called out to him, her heels loud on the smooth floor. 

“We’ll discuss this in further detail during your next appointment,” she began, and the card she held out next was not for him, Judai’s name in slanted characters at the top. “If you don’t mind, could you please pass this along to Yuki Judai? Although, all things considered, he’s welcome at any time.”

“Appointments are alien concepts to someone like him,” were the words that automatically tumbled out of his mouth, and he put it in his deck box, where he wouldn’t have to look at it anymore.

\---

Showing up late to class made for a bold entrance, and because Manjoume was now allergic to existing within one meter of any other human being, he made for the back of the lecture hall, the other students quick to break eye contact and feign interest in the front board. He slouched in his chair, idly dragging his pencil across a clean page, watching it fill with meaningless lines.

Yesterday Judai had returned, and the first moment of eye contact, of  _ confirmation _ , had made him feel feather-light, drifting away from all those painful memories competing for space inside his head, nullifying them. The realization had turned so slowly, like something small and precious in his hands, and the shock made  _ him _ the idiot staring wide-eyed at Judai, perfectly silent even as the others crowded closer, asking a million questions at once.

Hours could have passed -- starlight over Judai’s sharp features, somehow both different and the same as before. The small dashes of his freckles trailed up and then ran parallel to his jawline, clustered by his warm eyes. The only shadows on him were a pale grey, the highlights blue, and he was ethereal against the star-filled sky, standing in profile with an honest smile while Sho, wailing, had fallen for yet-another joke. Laughing to himself, Manjoume had shoved his bangs back, aware of the too-fast tremors visible in his hands, and when he had glanced up again, the moment had already shattered, an irreversible process. 

Judai’s eyes, locked on his forehead, had contained nothing but pain.

Sho had called out when Judai had started for the dormitory, then walking  _ past  _ it and into the encroaching dark. The protests all made sense. The confusion made sense, because Judai had suddenly become one-hundred-percent gone. Again.

Searching for him had been pointless. 

When the lecture ended, the rumors quickly seeped in from the hallways and resulted in more turned heads, the curiosity bared. As he saw it, it was free publicity for the amataur tournament, the dueling arenas booked out for that Saturday, and evidently, Red-Hair Guy was not exactly  _ popular _ . On the way out, a Ra Yellow gave him a high-five. 

“Are you trying to get kicked out  _ again _ ?”

Sho had not given him a high-five, and there was a faint ringing in his ears from the sheer  _ volume  _ of that question. ‘Annoying’ didn’t cover the feeling. “Some arguments aren’t worth settling with a duel. My cards would be insulted.”

“Hmm… Suspicious,” was Sho’s verdict, and he tried to match Manjoume’s strides, a futile effort. “You’re just trying to hide your new deck until the tournament…”

“I don’t ‘hide’ from anything,” Manjoume snapped back. The moment they had stepped over the threshold, the subject changed. 

“I saw  _ him _ on the beach earlier, but he just ignored me. Something’s wrong.”

“Like, magic-wrong or-?”

“Wrong-wrong,” Sho replied, snide. “Maybe he hasn’t changed at all, despite how-”

“Shut up.”

“...What?”

“You’re going to embarrass yourself if you keep making false assumptions, so shut up. That’s my advice.”

“...Are you going to stop with the mysterious act or…?” Blinking, Sho jogged to keep up, his glasses bouncing with the motion. “Oi, do I really have to beat you in a duel before you’ll tell me  _ anything _ ?”

“That will never happen, so it’s pointless for me to agree.”

“...You’re the  _ worst _ .”

\---

It took three days for Manjoume to give in. 

For three days straight, the golden draw bread had  _ mysteriously  _ been missing, but Tome-san wouldn't give him any information on the subject, part of an 'innocent' act that he hadn't bought for a damn second. Someone had taken Judai's fishing pole. And the technically-belonging-to-Ra-Yellow-pole that Judai used like it was his own.

Not that Manjoume would ever admit checking for those things. The Ojamas were sworn to silence, on the condition that he would rip them up if they blabbed to the other spirits. Still, above everything else, he would not allow anyone to screw with him like this, especially if that person was Yuki Judai.

Plus, he sort of  _ needed  _ the second person if he was ever going to confess. Which he was. He wanted to.

A determined Manjoume Thunder should be feared. Always. 

Step one of his plan involved sneaking into the chancellor's office, and he used a combination of Ojamas and Dark Scorpions to scout inside the building and gather information. Because of his strategic genius, he walked away with the tools neatly tucked inside his jacket, invisible under the cover of night.

Step two involved making the trek to the Slifer Red dormitory and examining the meager supplies that remained, anything of value accompanied by a 'PROPERTY OF RA YELLOW' sticker. The tackle box was the most likely target, and closing it again, Manjoume stood up and left. A more obvious trap would’ve been noticed.

When he woke up, the bait had already been taken, and expanding the grid on the GPS device, the topography of the island in green lines on a black background, he found the small red dot labeled 'MANJOUME JUN'. 

He went for it.

Despite how many times he had trudged through them, the forest surrounding the main buildings remained a labyrinth, the difficulty increasing when the too-close trees blocked the most obvious visual markers, like the volcano and the tiered roofs in blue, yellow, and red. With the GPS tracker, he had a clear goal, although reaching it involved tripping over roots, accidentally walking into branches, and making the wrong turn a few times, all with the Ojamas giggling behind him. They were minor difficulties, each one increasing his resolve. 

The name tags from the treasure hunt had been in a massive box shoved into a too-small drawer, and reaching in, the first one retrieved had been his own. The name was irrelevant. All he needed was an active signal for the GPS tracker to pick up, the tool borrowed from the same drawer.

For Judai to bother digging through all the sliding plastic trays inside the tackle box was unlikely. Even less likely was for him to take out the bottom tray completely and flip it over, the name tag attached with electrical tape. Least probable of all was Yuki fucking Judai remembering that detail about the name tags, the tracker inside thin and light, and, nodding to himself, Manjoume continued forward, the red dot closer with each step. If he craned his head back, he saw nothing but a blue sky shuttered by the overlapping canopies. No Winged Kuriboh. No eye-searing leotards, indicative of the Elemental Heroes. 

Unlike the forest from Yubel's dimension, grey and drained of life, this one was always in motion -- small birds flitting above and calling to each other, the branches they navigated through swaying in the weak breeze. Moss clung to the aged trunks, some patches giving way to mushrooms dappled with white spots. Glittering with dew, wild berries hung from loops of green, the thorns invisible from a distance.

Of course, hiking was still complete and utter  _ bullshit _ , bits of sweat prickling along his skin, and even the nice-looking parts of 'nature' could still be annoying beyond belief, like the puddle he stepped in next. 

Fuck everything.

"He's going to regret pissing me off," Manjoume muttered as he extracted his not-waterproof shoe from said body of water. His sock was officially damp. It was another form of torture that the Supreme King had been too dumb to use. 

After clearing his tiny throat, Ojama Yellow, ignoring at least five warning signs, boldly lifted one finger and said, "Hey, Boss. Maybe this plan isn't worth it, yah know? We could go back to Obelisk Blue, have some breakfast, catch up on the latest gossip with- Gah!"

"The only place you should go is the graveyard," was what Manjoume had snapped before taking out all three Ojamas with the swing of an arm, and, upon reflection, he couldn't decide if that had been a cool or extremely uncool thing to say. Whatever.

Flicking his hands, as if the Ojamas Ojama-ness risked transferring to his skin and spreading through him like a uniquely horrible virus, Manjoume continued towards the red dot, nature trying to interfere with its strategically placed sticks and rocks. He almost ate dirt twice. Conveniently, no one saw it. 

Less convenient was how Judai's camp -- which he burst into with the subtlety of a rampaging bear -- happened to be completely and utterly deserted. In revenge, he kicked over a log. He hoped it was a log with immense sentimental value to Judai. 

What a bastard. 

"Great. You've been hiding in the woods, like a total fucking loser," he muttered to himself, pivoting sharply to take it all in. If he had to rate the setup in aesthetic terms, Judai would receive a minus ten. 

The sagging tent was yellow, predictably. Inside, next to a sleeping roll and a tattered bag, was the tackle box, likely too big and annoying to haul to the shoreline. Both rods were missing. 

It didn't take a master of deductive reasoning to put the pieces together, and, rising from his crouch, Manjoume let out the breath he had been holding. Yes, he wanted a shouting match. The painful curl of his anger demanded it, and yet the rant was suddenly stuck in his throat, the words gibberish. Here, within the swaying walls of the tent, everything smelled like Judai.

Manjoume went outside.

Through the trees, there was a sliver of red from Judai's retreating back, and Manjoume bolted after it. 

Immediately, the confrontation was a mess.

He had grabbed Judai by the shoulder, forcing him to stop, but Judai's stare was far away, galaxies away, and he didn't resist the grip at all, like his will had been taken away again, leaving him a hollow shell, malleable. When Manjoume let go, Judai rocked back a little, and then he just stood there. They  _ both  _ just stood there, the narrow distance a lie.

The fishings rods clattered to the ground when Judai let them slip out of the crooked bracket of his arm, and -- a faint sign of the person behind the empty expression -- it was deliberate how he dodged Manjoume's stare, leaning back further on his right heel and tilting his head, as if just a millisecond of eye contact would make the universe explode. His red jacket remained creased, the indentations made by Manjoume's fingers, clawed in the fabric.

"What the fuck are you doing out here?"

No answer, not at first, and that distance stretched between them, as if the recollection of what that red jacket had felt like was really a lie, as if all of this was somehow inside his own head. The delusions of a desperate person. Light strands were brushed over dark strands when the wind changed, their thin shadows parting over Judai's dead eyes.

"You shouldn't be here," were the words, chosen after that long wait, and they couldn't have been more insulting.

"Sorry, but unless you've won ownership of this island from Kaiba himself, which I highly  _ doubt _ , all of this is school property, and  _ you  _ don't get to tell  _ me  _ where I can go," Manjoume spat back at him, an ugly snarl climbing up his face. "Our last encounter had an unacceptable ending, and I won't tolerate it, Judai. I refuse to."

It was subtle how Judai reacted, his eyes narrowing at the corners, and his pale knuckles jutted up like teeth.

Manjoume's passivity died an absolute and sudden death, and he started to yell, swinging around as he continued, Judai the still figure in the center of the clearing -- the axis point that he was bound to, that determined  _ everything  _ inside of his head. 

"I meant everything I said in that arena. You were reckless and foolish, and your actions caused your own friends to doubt you, to  _ suffer  _ in chains. Everyone deserves an apology from you, myself included. I'll wait for mine if I have to," he spat out, circling again, and Judai stared at nothing, his hands clenched into tight fists. It continued. "And yet, I never started to lie to you after that, not even when I was faced with the horrors of that castle. I meant every word. I tried to reach you, to save you."

"I know," Judai said, barely a whisper. It had been flat, holding nothing.

"Do you? Do you understand the humiliation I've had to endure? I'm your rival. I'm the one who wants to challenge you, to…" He fucked up, the sentence broken. Whatever. "You banished the Light of Destruction from my consciousness. Before that, you...pushed me away from a life that I didn't want, not honestly. You changed me, and yet I…" It was difficult, like his throat was full of jammed gears, and they wouldn't move, Judai taking a deep, shuddering breath that seemed to take all his energy, those unseeing eyes empty discs. Somehow, Manjoume broke through, even though he sounded beyond pathetic. He said those ugly, grinding words. "When I escaped, I wasn't going to abandon you. I needed to protect myself and...to stop the Supreme King from making you watch that, but I never gave up. I would have returned because I wasn't  _ done _ ."

"I know."

Snarling, he whipped around. "Is that  _ it _ ? Do you know any other fucking words?! Damn it. I would have given everything,  _ everything  _ to get you out of there, no matter the consequences. Yes, the Supreme King hurt me," he stated, and there was a wince, tracked by his unblinking eyes, "and, yes, I get that he's connected to you, but my feelings won't change. I've chosen you, and I don't have a weak will. I  _ know  _ who you are, Judai."

"My past actions have-"

"Don't start this. Don't  _ talk  _ like this, you-"

"-consequences, and I'm prepared to deal with them," Judai said, and, with that, he started to walk away, deeper into the forest. The earlier scene repeated itself, Manjoume lunging forward and grabbing him, and Judai let him do it. 

It felt like his chest was caving in, more and more of his insides falling out of place with each ragged breath, and Judai, perfectly still beneath his palm, would not look at him.

"You're going to run away," Manjoume heard himself blurt out, and his grip had to hurt, the pressure unkind. "You're waiting for the right opportunity, that's all. You won't face Tenjouin-kun and the others."

No answer. When Manjoume released him, Judai did not move.

"I won't allow it."

"It's the right decision," Judai replied, bloodless. "It will prevent everyone from feeling more pain because of me, especially you."

"Shut up. You can't say that."

"It's the truth," Judai said, and, stunned, Manjoume stepped back, the world fuzzy at the edges. This was the wrong outcome. It shouldn't have been possible, and yet-

"I'm too selfish to let that happen," was all Manjoume muttered, a weak retort. It did not elicit a reaction, and it did nothing to stop himself from crumbling in place, a ruined machine cascading into its destruction. What the  _ fuck _ ? Judai leaving?

No.

No way.

This time, when he raised his head, their eyes met. They were the honest eyes of the stupid hero-obsessed duelist that Manjoume Jun had fallen for, bordered by dark circles like smudges of ink. Like bits of shadow that wouldn't leave, fused with Judai's sun-marked skin. 

The smile was sad.

"No way," Manjoume rasped, unblinking. "I won't accept this stupid,  _ rash  _ action. The situation doesn't make sense, and…" He went for it, Judai's stare locked on his own, and the attention twisted his adrenaline, making his heart beat loud and fast because this was Judai, a tattered hero. Someone impossibly valuable, overwhelming in every way. "Judai, there's still something I have to tell you, and this setting doesn't suit it at all. You'll...never forget hearing me say it. I'll...mean every word of it."

Even though it was so,  _ so  _ strained, the eye contact continued, Judai's soft beneath their many shadows. 

"Manjoume…"

Thinking fast was a speciality of Manjoume Thunder, visible in his many high-stakes duels. The main goal was making-sure-that-slacker-doesn't-leave, and there was a way to achieve it, the steps suddenly inside Manjoume's skull and, well, if  _ guilt  _ wouldn't work, then extreme measures were necessary. 

Step one. A distraction. 

Almost in disbelief over what he was about to do, Manjoume took a step forward and then looked over Judai's left shoulder. Next was the stupid question. "Oh. What's that?"

Somehow, it fucking worked, Judai's eyebrows raising as he turned his head. Cool.

Step two. A bold action.

Shooting ahead, Manjoume grabbed Judai's deck box, unclipped it from the back of his belt, and then jumped back as far as humanly possible, one arm up for defense against those duelist-level reflexes, but he really  _ had  _ caught Judai off guard. Slowly, his rival straightened the broken line of his shoulders, and, vaguely, Manjoume acknowledged that this was a bad plan, maybe the worst one ever. In the history of the entire human race.

Step three. A speech, to buy time while he unclipped his own deck box, the incremental movements stiff with tension, one hand behind his back while the other waved the stolen item. 

"Well, well… Looks like you can't leave without  _ this _ … Ah, I can almost hear the Neo-Spacians crying out. Maybe if I shake it a little more…"

"Manjoume," Judai began, the tone flat, controlled. "You shouldn't take that."

"...And  _ again  _ you're ordering me around," Manjoume grumbled, adjusting his hold. "So, what? Are you going to come beat me up? Take it by force? That's so unlike the  _ real  _ you, isn't it?"

"I'm saying this for your sake," was the response, stronger than before, like a wave building before it crashed down. Judai's knuckles were pale peaks above his scar-laced hands. 

"Stop assuming how I feel. Stop  _ acting  _ like you're better than me."

"I'm not. I'm…" Wincing, Judai stopped, and everything made Manjoume want to yell more, his fingers clumsy as they worked on the main clasp. With a deep, shuddering breath, Judai tried again, that energy back and rising higher. "I'm asking you to give that back."

"Wow, so polite." Click. And he could  _ feel _ the Ojamas start to awaken and bristle when he took his own deck box, gripped it, and threw it at Judai, who caught it with that same look --  _ definitely  _ annoyed. Too bad, slacker. "How about a trade then? Well, a  _ temporary  _ one. Tomorrow, first thing, meet me at the main arena, and maybe I'll  _ consider  _ taking a duel off you in exchange for fixing this awkward situation."

"...A duel?" Judai repeated, and he held Manjoume's deck box like it had an extremely high probability of turning into a poisonous snake and biting him, which wouldn't have even been  _ that  _ strange by Duel Academy standards. Naturally, Winged Kuriboh was a very mad and very puffy mass of fur. Manjoume had to yell over the hoots. 

"Yeah, a duel, now that I  _ know  _ you won't go running off in the middle of the night. Then again, I'm assuming that you have  _ enough  _ honor left not to abandon my precious cards."

"Manjoume…"

"Well, nice chat. I'll see you around. Oh, and meet with Ayukawa-sensei before she tries to scold me," was Manjoume's overly cheerful exit, which led into the mad sprint he made through the trees, clutching the duel box like the lifeline that it was and swiping at low branches with the other hand, ignoring the stings of broken skin. But Judai hadn't followed him, a lucky break, and, panting, Manjoume gathered his bearings, the GPS device swaying as he held it up and squinted. 

Great. 

He had run in the wrong direction.

He decided that was somehow Judai's fault. 

\---

By the time he burst into the clearing around the main building, his stomach had started to clench in that painful 'stop skipping breakfast slash lunch' way, and Winged Kuriboh had progressed to all-out aerial warfare, diving at him repeatedly with even louder hoots. More important than that was the deck box,  _ Judai's  _ deck box. Walking on Academy property with it was like hauling around serious contraband, like he had forty-something forged copies of Harpy's Feather Duster shoved under his coat. 

"It's just until tomorrow. This isn't a problem," Manjoume told himself, and, steeled by his own flawless logic, he pivoted and made for the Obelisk Blue dorms, as the chance of encountering some Judai supporter was too high. Immediately he ran into Asuka, the stack of papers in her arms wobbling, and her eyebrows rose when he hurried slapped a hand over Winged Kuriboh. The duel spirit of Winged Kuriboh. Which she could not see.

Oh.

"There...was a bug," Manjoume stated, playing it off with a laugh. She was not convinced, a look of concern turning her features next, making them gentle.

"Manjoume-kun, are you feeling alright today? I understand if you need to spend time away from classes."

"I'm, uh…" The deck box continued to  _ burn  _ underneath his coat, and he quickly said something, Winged Kuriboh making a hissing noise that was actually quite disturbing. "I-It's not what it looks like. I just...had a...thing. To do. In the forest."

Her eyebrow arched higher. "In the forest?"

"...Yes?"

The pause was excruciatingly long. Finally, it ended, Asuka sighing to herself. "Well, I need to bring these to the medical center for Ayukawa-sensei. Our meeting is still on for tonight, so come by my room around seven. We really need to finalize the ban list… Doing it the day before the tournament isn't very responsible of us, is it?"

"Whatever. A true duelist can always compensate," Manjoume replied, scoffing. "And yes, of course I'll be there. I  _ am  _ an organizer, after all."

After exchanging goodbyes, Manjoume took exactly three steps, stopped in place, and then reality cracked a little, the distant sound of shattering glass inside his head. Because Winged Kuriboh was  _ kind  _ enough to recognize that he was having an existential crisis, there was a brief moratorium on the hooting, and Manjoume -- glaring hard at the nearest pillar, the weathered visage of Obelisk the Tormentor leering back at him -- took a very deep breath. 

The tournament was  _ tomorrow.  _

"This is fine," he told himself, dimly aware that  _ fuck no _ . This  _ was not  _ fine. "I'll beat Judai, save the day, and then everything will be fine. Great, actually."

The eerie silence should've been filled with cheering and bad jokes from the Ojamas. Instead, he had the doll-eyed stare of Winged Kuriboh, still silent, furry, and unhappy. 

Returning to the Obelisk Blue dorms, he dodged the staff members lingering in the hallways and made for his room, immediately locking the door and going for the windows. All were locked and covered by curtains, the lamp on his desk the single source of light.

He had to do something with the deck box. Hiding it below a stack of papers and then sealing it in the double-locked bottom drawer was the logical choice. In the past, he might have thrown the cards away, just to be a jerk. 

And yet, these were Judai’s cards, and they now had to be kept safe, hidden away.

And yet, he remained awkwardly half-crouching/half-standing at his desk and holding the deck box loosely, Winged Kuriboh warbling over his shoulder. 

“He...didn’t want me to have this.”

The next warble was different, a zig-zag of sound. 

The plain brown of the deck box was scratched by the white wear-marks that had accumulated, and carefully Manjoume put it down, a sensation lingering on his palm -- a faint, bubbling warmth, as if a small creature was resting inside. His life was strange enough without being able to feel cards  _ breath _ , and yet that’s what it felt like, the traces dissipating. He shook his head.

“Judai is a bastard. Nothing he does is fair,” he said to himself, and when Winged Kuriboh did nothing, he snorted. “What? No counter argument, fuzzball? Some spirit partner you are…”

Nothing, again. Two oversized eyes were on him, the angelic wings drooping.

“Look, this  _ might  _ seem like a hostage situation, but it’s not, and don’t you dare go around telling the other spirits that  _ I’m  _ being cruel because…” Wait, where was he going with this? With a few hand gestures, Manjoume changed his direction, but with each word the floating pile of lint only managed to look even  _ more  _ pathetic. “S-Stop with the googly eyes, okay?! Isn’t staying here better than playing wilderness adventure with that Slifer Red?!”

A tiny, tiny hoot.

Manjoume slapped a hand over his forehead and cursed his existence. 

Cool. Great. He had an upset, floating throw pillow to deal with for roughly sixteen hours. 

“Whatever. I’m done, and- Why don’t you go bother the other low-stat losers? Here, I’ve got  _ dozens  _ of them,” Manjoume added as he deftly flipped through the nearest stack of monster cards, zero-attack monsters following zero-attack monsters. “I’ll give you a whole clan of pathetic friends. You like rabbits? Here, I’ve got six of them. Rescue Rabbit, Blade Rabbit, and, oh, next is…”

When he stopped, there was only himself and Winged Kuriboh, subtly hovering in the ring of light cast by the desk lamp. Even the Dark Scorpions were silent, and, incrementally, a chill rounded the individual knobs of his spine, its tendrils sinking deeper and winding inside his chest. “The fuck is this?” he rasped, and the portrait of Rescue Rabbit did not answer him, the spirit hidden away inside the fibers of the card. Why would that happen? Why would they cower  _ here _ , inside his own room? “They’re just a bunch of heroes, with the sidekick of a  _ Kuriboh _ . I get that you’re a bunch of cowards, but come on.”

Evidently, his conversation with a piece of paper had accomplished nothing, and he dropped the remaining cards, heaving a sigh while he, begrudgingly, looked back at said Kuriboh. The next warble was even  _ worse  _ than before, a barely audible whimper that seemed-

Wait.

“Are you...worried? About  _ me _ ?”

Those two blinks had to mean yes, and it was good that he wasn’t holding the cards. They would’ve been ruined otherwise, his nails digging into his palms. 

“ _ Why _ ? There’s no reason to be. This deck, it’s just a bunch of heroes. I’ve fought against it enough to know  _ that _ , in case you have a warped image of me,” Manjoume snapped back, and those big doll-eyes just stared back at him, comprehending but not changing. And, with a motion controlled tightly, he faced the desk again, the deck box dead center and unmoving. Because it was a fucking deck box.

In his classes, one thing had been stressed from the beginning -- a true duelist’s deck was a reflection of their heart.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, he reached out his hand, and the clasp was a simple magnetic one, standard issue. It would’ve posed no challenge at all, identical to his own, and yet he stopped in mid-air, making the yelp from Winged Kuriboh unnecessary. The chill returned with a vengeance, close to the bones that it rounded again, like an inhuman touch, and he set his teeth together, snarling at that so-familiar collection of wear marks and stiff material, the cards hidden inside. 

His fingers twitched.

“What? Does he  _ actually  _ have forty-ish counterfeit copies of Harpy’s Feather Duster in here?”

Translucent green claws batted at his outstretched hand, and he thought, involuntarily, of how Judai had looked at him, staggeringly beautiful beneath the forked shadows of the trees because, yeah, that crush had ruined him, to the point that even the memories made him stupid, frozen in place. 

But he would have pulled his hand back eventually, resigned to let that deck box stare back at him from across the room while he, with some fucking  _ space  _ to think, sorted out the conflicts, the minute collisions that kept happening. He would have stepped back, taking the warning that Winged Kuriboh was giving him, because that’s what it  _ really  _ was -- a warning, as bold as it could have been. He had noticed it too late, and the consequences unfurled themselves with ragged wings and the clicks of chainmail-like scales, dripping with purple-dark shadows and composed with the steep angles of a weapon, unsheathed. The eyes were orange and green, burning through the low light and finding his own, and he could have screamed. Maybe he did, the nightmare flexing their shoulders as they stood on his desk, shimmering until those translucent edges fell away, the shadows lining their curves and sinking in. Because Yubel was real.

And alive.

And approaching him, their talons gleaming.

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ....thunder.


	12. Opened

\---

Manjoume woke up on the floor, and for a short but wonderful stretch of time, he could only blink up at his dorm room's ceiling and breathe in the cedar-scent of the forest, carried by the faint breeze from outside. 

But...

He  _ had _ locked the balcony door, hadn't he?

The incongruous detail bothered him, annoying like the whine of a summer mosquito that darted again and  _ again  _ out of his reach. The numb-tired-groggy fog inside his head told him to chill out and let that tiny insect live out its miserable fucking life. Despite the fact that, yes, he was without question lying on the carpeted floor, the position was relatively comfortable -- owing to the luxurious pedigree of all things 'Obelisk Blue'. The pillow under his head also helped. 

And yet, there absolutely  _ shouldn't _ have been a pillow under his head.

The questions piled on top of each other until, bristling and clenching his fingers in those long fibers below, Manjoume was suddenly both very awake and very mad. The latter was a 'default emotion' for him; he didn't have a definable reason for being mad, but it was probably only a matter of time. 

In this case, he only needed a few seconds. Blinking rapidly, Manjoume sat up, rubbed at the back of his head (currently sore and throbbing), and then directed a glare towards the balcony doors, which were open. His glare clipped the edge of Judai's muddy boots, and then it traveled up, intensifying further with each new scrap of too-weathered material. By the time it reached Judai's predictably  _ blank  _ face, Manjoume's glare would have made a lesser duelist immediately fall to the floor and then smash their forehead against it with an extremely urgent and desperate bow. Judai, naturally immune to such things, continued to stare at the far wall as if it held the secrets of the universe and not just some over-designed wallpaper, a circular stain of some condiment that Manjoume swore was there when he moved in, and some patches of residue from a bunch of old sticky notes that, again, he clearly had no role in. Absolutely not. 

"You look like someone just outlawed card games," Manjoume blurted out, which was true. Those dead eyes were a travesty, an  _ insult  _ that already had his teeth on edge. Judai's outfit usually seemed to be just as perked-up and flashy as the duelist himself, that flared collar whipping eagerly with even the slightest breeze, but now Judai had all the charismatic aura of an underpaid extra in an apocalypse movie. Or a mannequin. A goddamn  _ doll. _

Apparently Judai could still talk though, not that anything he said was useful. 

"You shouldn't move too quickly," he mumbled, and if Manjoume had the stamina to, he would have shot to his feet in protest. The headache was an obstacle. He felt along his scalp for an obvious bump and found nothing. 

"How did you even get in here?"

Judai answered in the same empty voice. "You can pick the balcony lock with just a pen. It's not that hard.”

...Okay.

"Well, congratulations for making your way in here to track dirt all over my floor," was Manjoume's biting reply, and if he wanted a reaction, then tough luck. His rival would not oblige him. 

Those eyes were terrible, all of their light smothered so clearly, so  _ obviously _ .

"You should be careful. You fainted," Judai said, still playing his unblinking game with the wall, and Manjoume could not stop himself from laughing. No way. No fucking way. 

"W-What?! Oh, come  _ on.  _ If you're trying to mess with me, put some more effort into it. I mean, have you  _ forgotten  _ who you're dealing with? I'm Manjoume Thunder."

“I haven’t forgotten that,” were the stiff words Judai said next, and a ripple of tension passed down his face, briefly curling his mouth into a snarl. Dimly, Manjoume realized that he was sitting on the very,  _ very  _ edge of the bed, his hands tangled together with his fingertips pressing down over his knuckles. His right leg shook slightly, as if he was trying not to bounce his foot up and down like he sometimes did during their lectures -- a supremely annoying habit, in addition to his many others.

That empty expression was disconnected from the rest of him, tension showing through every angle. Although, that alone -- that  _ strangeness  _ \-- wasn’t going to make Manjoume give in and cower, especially not when they were in his own damn room. He should have stood up, now that his head had settled. He should have done  _ something  _ to make those empty eyes familiar again, but instead he stayed quiet while Judai continued.

What he said made no sense. None at all.

“Earlier you said that you knew me, but that’s not really true, not anymore. I was willing to give my life if it meant fulfilling that promise to Yubel,” he stated, and Manjoume was both listening and suddenly incapable of listening, his heart thudding faster and faster, “and ever since we’ve fused, I’ve had...time to think about my actions. I thought I could stay here, but it’s… It’s not right.”

“...Yubel?”

The deck box was still resting innocently on his desk, surrounded by a mass of discarded notes and the neat stacks of his spare cards. The quiet of his Reject Well spirits loomed. It gained its own presence, an absence that in turn pulled him in and made his mind spin. Judai hadn’t been lying at all -- he  _ had  _ fainted, scared that badly inside his  _ own room  _ and in the presence of  _ his own  _ cards. 

Within Judai’s deck had been an apparition of golden claws, shadow-drenched wings, and burning, blazing irises, and Manjoume could only whip his head around to stare at his rival, his classmate. His friend. His first  _ actual  _ one of those. 

At first, Judai only closed his eyes and said nothing, his hands tightening around each other. His knuckles rose sharply.

“You’ve seen my deck,” he muttered, almost too quietly to carry. More tension wracked his body, his eyebrows twitching. “Tell me, if my deck reflects my soul, then what do you-?”

“Shut up! W-What are you even-!?”

“I’m not trying to hide what happened, and I’m not going to lie about what Yubel means to me now,” Judai stated, and he got up, balling his hands into fists. He was shaking,  _ trembling _ . “I’m not expecting anything from you, Manjoume. I...can’t be that selfish anymore, and-”

“You  _ fused  _ with  _ Yubel _ ? You’ve…” Staggering to his feet, he slashed stupidly at the air. The presence of that  _ quiet  _ had only grown stronger, and within it was the culprit, that  _ deck  _ containing a monster -- a nightmare that could move inside this world. Such actions should have been impossible.

Judai opened his clouded eyes, his pupils wide in the low light. 

“Yubel was twisted by the Light of Destruction, but the Gentle Darkness removed its influence. We’re together again, as we should be.”

“Shut up,” Manjoume ordered, although it sounded so thin, so  _ weak _ . Darting, his eyes moved between Judai and that deck. “No, it’s just that… That spirit from your childhood has infested one of your cards. This is all another  _ trick  _ so they can isolate you, and... We’ll talk to the chancellor. We’ll find a way to destroy Yubel, permanently.”

“No, we don’t need to,” Judai replied, the strain audible, but it wasn’t enough, not when Manjoume was seething and raging and so,  _ so  _ close to just throwing a punch somewhere. It didn’t matter what he broke. Judai shook his head, his flyaway hair shifting in strands of copper and red and gold. “Like I said, I’m going. I’m not asking you to understand me.”

“Great, because I  _ don’t _ ,” Manjoume shot back, and- It was so small. He could barely see it, but Judai did flinch, ducking his head. His bangs covered his eyes. Barely able to control himself, Manjoume continued, taking an unsteady step closer. “Look, let’s say that I agree with you, and Yubel was just messed up by the Light of Destruction like myself and Tenjouin-kun. Then that would…”

He shut his mouth. His teeth clicked together. 

No.

No, not happening. Even though he had even  _ said  _ it himself to Yubel, this-

\---

_ “I actually thought you were the mastermind here, but you’re just another pawn, a disposable piece in a bigger game. Fuck, it’s so humiliating that I let myself be trapped by you. It’s like the whole Society of Light mess again, just with a different setting and a higher rating. _ _ ” _

\---

_ “I won’t pretend that I get the details of this whole darkness-versus-light, end-of-the-universe conflict. But it’s true. It has to be, and you’re...not a real being. You’re a distortion, like that fortune teller was. Like the other students were. Like-”  _

_ “Now, now. Don’t go that far.” _

_ “You’re out of control. Someone has to take you down.” _

\---

-could not be real. Did… Did Judai expect him to just...be  _ happy  _ with that conclusion? He wasn’t. How  _ could  _ he be?

He needed a new strategy, because he could see how this line of thought ended, and, no,  _ no  _ way, was he going there. Not now. Shaking his head, he tried to focus, finding himself glaring hard at one of Judai’s boots and a particularly offensive flake of dirt. Right. Being annoyed at Judai for messing up for room was easy and almost comforting. Stupid Slifer Red. Although-

Although the pillow that had been under his head then took on a new meaning, and Manjoume -- grimacing at the sight of it, cursing himself for even  _ glancing  _ at it -- smacked his own forehead. This could  _ not  _ be real. After all of this bullshit was sorted out, he was going to find Dr Zweinstein’s dimensional science junk and smack all of the machines with a hammer until the universe made  _ adequate  _ sense. This? All of this was clearly a massive error.

“So I fainted.”

“...Yes.”

“How do you know that I didn’t just pass out from exhaustion?” Manjoume asked, arching an eyebrow. 

“Because Yubel told me what happened,” Judai replied evenly, still refusing to turn his head. “They’re protective over my cards. I should’ve chased after you when-”

“Did Yubel grab me?”

A pause. Manjoume knew the answer before Judai said it.

“They...grabbed your arm, but you still fell."

Cool. Awesome. 

Fantastic. 

The implications there were too much to deal with, so he didn't deal with them. He boxed them and filed them away for a later meltdown. The process had become increasingly efficient. Not having the Ojamas gyrating in his general vicinity was also a great help. Evidently, Yubel's terrorizing presence had exactly one benefit.

Such thoughts made for convenient distractions, as the impulses currently zig-zagging through him were split between the 'Punch Judai and ruin everything' kind and the 'Pick a fight with Yubel' kind.

"Now I'll have to get a sleeve replaced on my favorite coat," Manjoume muttered to himself, picking at a stray thread before ripping it out, and, oh, was that a sneer? A flash of emotion? Was Judai  _ really  _ going to argue with him over this? He waited, his eyes wide and aching, but Judai only clenched his teeth. He remained that collection of tensed limbs, as if parts of him were made out rusted-out metal and would soon, finally, tumble out of their static positions. Parts of him were on the edge of falling. 

"I came here to give back your deck," Judai gritted out, and Manjoume could watch the fractured cycle of his breathing. He could feel the precipice that they were both standing on, obscurity below. 

"No way. Spend a few more hours with the Ojamas. You might gain a new appreciation for me and all the shit I have to deal with," was Manjoume's quick reply, goading. Judai raised his chin. 

"No. I have to leave."

"Why? If your self-appointed goal is to keep all of us from being hurt, then why would you just  _ leave  _ like this? You haven't talked to anyone. You have no  _ reason  _ to believe that strategy will work. You're...being reckless again," Manjoume finished, and when Judai looked at him, he could see it: the pain overflowing the impassive amber, ringed with black. 

"I'm also here to take my deck," he stated, and he lowered his shoulders, his voice growing louder. "I _know_ what I have to do. I can't... _be_ here when I'm just going to keep messing up. I'll say the wrong thing. I'll...do the wrong thing."

"Oh,  _ wow. _ It's  _ so _ convenient that you can suddenly tell the future," Manjoume hissed back. Judai bristled. 

"You're not going to change my mind."

"Why? Are my words worth that little to you?"

"No," Judai snarled, his hands balled into fists. "You know that's not it. I just couldn't-?"

"Just  _ what _ ?"

"Just…"

"Spit it out."

"I didn't help anyone," Judai declared, his voice ringing out. The pain continued to be shown, to be  _ heard _ . "I couldn't keep Yubel from being hurt. I couldn't keep Lord Brron away from my friends. I couldn't... _ stop  _ the Supreme King from hurting you." Scowling, Judai quickly resumed his staring contest with the wall, the dark circles beneath his eyes contrasting starkly with the living, gleaming irises. Was Judai going to cry? The thought made Manjoume feel sick. He wanted to interrupt this, but- "Even though I heard everything he said, I couldn't reach you. He would have  _ killed  _ you."

At that point, Manjoume had an overflowing warehouse full of shit he was Not Dealing With, and he somehow managed to fit even more tightly sealed boxes in. Later.  _ Later  _ he could start to unpack why those words from Judai made his hands tremble even worse than before, or why he was shaking at all. They were both safe (sort of, minus the stack of boxes labeled 'YUBEL'). They were on the island again. 

Judai stood in place less than two meters from him, and they both breathed in the same chilled air. Their eyes did not meet.

\---

Hours could have passed. 

The abominable quiet of the duel spirits remained, as did the hidden menace of that demon waiting within Judai's deck. The brown deck box looked so innocent in contrast -- a battered thing that Judai had lugged around for years. At some point, Manjoume had put his back to the wall and leaned against it, crossing his arms tightly. It was a decent vantage point for alternating his watch between the deck box and its owner, who hadn't left yet. Maybe Judai could sense that any step towards the open doors would ignite the tension. The spark would lead to  _ everything  _ exploding outwardly, the cacophony of shrapnel and insults and words that couldn't be taken back.

Again Judai had sat on the edge of the bed, only now his head was in his hands. Manjoume could not see his face. 

Obviously Judai had returned from that other dimension, but that didn't mean his guilt had been left to die alone on those arid wastelands. Both the forces of the Supreme King and the tyrant himself had enforced the tenants of cruelty and barbarism. Plus, Judai had claimed 'responsibility' for Yubel being...Yubel. That would only give him more reasons to feel like shit. And to continue to act in such a moronic way. 

Probably. 

Most likely.

It was pretty hard to  _ think  _ and not just start yelling. After all, Judai wasn't the only one who could just  _ burn  _ down everything. A second's loss of control would cause the explosion. Or maybe a millisecond. 

Fuck, he really needed to yell, to get  _ out  _ the pressure making his throat ache and his teeth grind together. He knew his own expression had to be ugly, concealing  _ nothing _ . Not that Judai could even see it. 

Not that Judai had the guts to even look at him. 

"For someone who wants to run away, you're doing a terrible job of leaving my room," Manjoume heard himself mutter darkly, and it didn't ignite what lay between them. The room remained so cold and still and agonizing. Somehow he continued. "...Not that jumping off my balcony like a coward is a good look either."

Judai hadn't moved, and… Fine.  _ Fine.  _ Fuck everything. 

Exhaling sharply and cursing the universe for being so  _ stupid _ , Manjoume stalked forward, contemplated knocking a lamp over for 'catharsis' or whatever, and then firmly sat down next to Judai. Right next to him. His added weight knocked their shoulders briefly before Judai, flinching hard, moved away. 

He opened his mouth. 

"Look, if you want to hang out in the woods and eat bugs, then go ahead. Knock yourself out. Or if you want to keep going on that 'journey to become an adult' or whatever you told Sho, then, sure, have fun with  _ that _ ." He paused, extremely aware that Judai's fingers had twitched, parting more of his shaggy mess of a hairstyle. "You're different now. Of course you are, but that's not the same as being a stranger, and…" It was hard, Manjoume kicking at the carpet. Eventually he kept going. He shut his eyes. "Judai, not all types of isolation are the same. Are you really wanting to get away and clear your head? Or are you just looking for an easy way to be alone and hate yourself even more?"

This stilted, ugly conversation had been dragging itself out for so long, and Manjoume couldn't stop himself from slumping over, his hands dangling between his knees. Yeah, this was nothing like their usual fights, often over dumb card combinations or school assignments or the ever-popular state of their win-loss tally. Normally Judai would just laugh and joke through his half of the dialogue, because he treated most things with the same carefree luck and energy of his duels.

Had they  _ ever  _ talked like this before? He hadn't yelled at all, and Judai hadn't run away. Or vice-versa.

How unprecedented.

There was an extremely high chance that they were both being brainwashed. 

When he forced himself to blink back the exhaustion, he saw Judai's boots flat on the carpet. No bouncing. It was almost insulting how he was being made to judge Judai's mood by his fucking  _ feet.  _

Sighing, he ran a hand over his face, and more words happened. He couldn't put up a filter even if he wanted to. 

"Until you've figured that out, you can stay with me if you want to. Since that freeloader Rei won't get out of the Manjoume Room, this is  _ unfortunately  _ only the second-nicest room on campus, but at least…you won't be having an angst party in the goddamn woods. That's way worse than eating bugs."

Judai said nothing. Obviously. 

Urgh. 

"What time is it? I need room service. A  _ lot  _ of room service," Manjoume clarified as he got up, closing those damn doors with an unnecessary 'bang'. "Seriously, right now I could-"

Bang. 

A knock on a different door. The one leading to the hallway. 

At that, Judai straightened, and his glazed eyes sharpened for a beat. "It's Asuka," he observed. "She's by herself."

"...What, did you put Winged Kuriboh in the hallway as a sentry?" he asked, although that conclusion made no sense. If the (currently absent) furball had hooted, he would have heard it too. Judai, being  _ predictable _ if nothing else, did not respond, and Manjoume took immense joy in stomping across the room and imagining himself toppling various pieces of furniture. Although, he  _ did  _ have enough tact to pause before swinging the door open, since this was Tenjouin Asuka, after all. He cleared his throat and tried to look…like Manjoume Thunder. Cool. Enviable. Quick-witted and  _ not  _ prone to almost-breakdowns while not-yelling at his declared rival. 

Right.

Asuka was standing in the hallway with four bulging plastic bags tightly gripped in her hands, and the stern line in-between her eyebrows made him cringe a little, a  _ very  _ small amount. 

"Oh, good. At least you were easy to find," she said in a too-nice voice, and before Manjoume could take some of the bags, as a Fubuki-approved gentleman would do, she continued with an eyebrow arched in judgement. "It's not like you to miss a meeting about the tournament. Manjoume-kun, if this was too much work, you should have told me."

...Oh. 

Damn it.

"My apologies," he gritted out, casting a vengeful glare at the doorframe and bowing his head. "Really, Tenjouin-kun, I didn't mean to disappoint you. I won't make a mistake like this in the future."

"It's alright. And...I didn't mean to sound so harsh," she admitted with a gentle smile. "Is it alright for me to worry about you a little? You seemed...distracted earlier."

"I'm distracted right now," he muttered bitterly before he caught himself, and Asuka had  _ not  _ missed that, the stern lines swapped out for a small 'v' between her thin eyebrows. Cool. Great. Now he was causing  _ Asuka  _ to worry, adding on extra burdens. He shook his head, and-

"Judai?!"

And before he could block her, Asuka had darted under his arm and moved further into the room, her blue boots against the purple carpet. A thousand problems surfaced urgently, and Manjoume felt his heart clench. In a stupid,  _ stupid  _ move, h _ e _ grabbed her shoulder. 

She gave him a look of surprise that he didn't have the  _ capacity  _ to process, not when-

"Manjoume-kun? What's going on?"

"I…" Speak, damn it. He growled, his stare set on Judai and digging in, drilling down. "Judai, I've been so  _ easy  _ on you about this, but I swear, if we're not actually safe in here, then it's over. There won't  _ be _ a redemption arc for your new 'friend'. Do you understand me?"

"Yubel's not like that anymore," Judai stated, like he was mindlessly reading cards names off an inventory list, and immediately Asuka's posture changed, her head whipping around. She stood as a leader. 

"Why is Yubel here?" she asked, perfectly steeled and  _ not  _ a barely contained disaster. As if Manjoume needed another reason to admire her. 

"You should shut the door for this," Judai said, and Manjoume wanted to leave it open out of sheer spite. Instead, he waited for Asuka, finally glanced over her shoulder at him and nodded. 

"You're sure?"

"Yes, I am," she said 

\---

Like that, Manjoume's Friday night continued to be equal parts strange and tense. With himself leaning against the bedroom wall, Judai on the very edge of the bed, and Asuka sitting neatly on his desk chair, they formed the three vertices of an awkward triangle. He had watched her lay that collection of bags down by the main door, but maintaining such an idle curiosity was impossible. Because looking at the closed deck box made his skin crawl, he directed his glare at the side of Judai's head instead. 

With the subtlety of an icebreaker plowing through an island-sized fortress of solid ice, Manjoume began with, "Judai has been keeping a Yubel card in his deck. Oh, and he has  _ also  _ fused with Yubel, who is apparently good now because the Light of Destruction has been sent to the stars. Really convenient, isn't it?"

Asuka's expression tightened, her eyes locked on Judai. "I...see. That means Yubel's duel spirit is here, doesn't it?"

"Yeah. You can say that," Manjoume muttered, sneering. 

"Yubel and I agreed that they should stay back. I don't…" With a tired sigh, Judai finally looked up again. "I'm trying not to cause more problems before I leave."

"You're leaving?" Asuka asked, and Judai wrung his hands together, his eyes dropping to the floor.

"Yeah. I am."

"I'm sorry to hear that. We've...grown up alongside each other," Asuka said, smiling a little. 

No reply. Asuka continued. 

"Although, I would like to ask for a favour, Judai."

He shrugged. 

"I want you to duel me," Asuka said, her duel disk activating with a mechanical whine, the blade extending, and Manjoume banged his elbow against the wall. Which was significantly less embarrassing than fainting, but-

"T-Tenjouin-kun?!"

"Why should we duel?" Judai asked, a collection of words that  _ staggered  _ Manjoume.

Unbelievable. A  _ duel  _ not pulling in Yuki fucking Judai like a paperclip to a super-charged magnet. 

"Before I can accept this story, I need to confirm something first. Both Yubel and the Light of Destruction were able to control people, and the outcome of a duel could change that influence. It might be a waste of time, but you understand me, don’t you?"

It made sense, and yet Judai should have made a show of protesting. Or spitting out a few bad jokes. Instead, he just stood up, took his deck, and slotted it into his duel disk before sitting back down again. Talk about anticlimactic. 

And so,  _ so  _ weird. 

Next should've been the part where Judai complained that Asuka had basically  _ ordered  _ him to lose a duel to her, but, no, clearly that level of consistency would have been too nice, too  _ easy _ . Instead, Manjoume watched in numb fascination as his duel-crazed rival put a few heroes on the field, let Asuka sweep them aside with her Cyber Angels, and then passed a turn with no new cards on his side. A direct attack ended it: 0 life points to 4000. Immediately Judai retracted his duel disk, the shimmers of electronic light gone, and Asuka did the same. 

"Everything Manjoume said is correct," Judai stated, despite the undeniable fact that he, Yuki  _ Judai, _ had technically just lost a duel. He shrugged, clearing the display. "Like I said, I'm going soon. I won't keep… Forget it." Shaking his head, he initiated a new staring contest with Manjoume's baseboards, and, yeah, that was it. That was  _ enough _ .

"Congratulations on not being brainwashed, although that just means you're serious about being fused with that fu-"

"Maybe we should all eat before continuing this conversation," Asuka said, smoothing out her skirt as she stood up, and Manjoume didn't want to swallow his rant. Asuka's look told him that, tough luck, he should get over it, and when she returned with three of the bags, all bulging from the many rectangular boxes inside, she quickly shoved his disorganized papers aside to drop them on the desk. The 'thud' echoed for a moment. 

His name was written on the side of the top box, the 'THUNDER' accompanied by yellow lightning bolts on either side. 

"What the…?"

"The leader of your fanclub is in my Duel Theory class. A lot of people are excited to see Manjoume Thunder duel in the tournament," she began, pulling out the containers. "Also, my brother is a gossip. Because you told him that you're working on a new deck, it's now common knowledge. People are excited, naturally."

"...Oh," was Manjoume's extremely thoughtful response. His stomach violently reminded him that, yeah, he hadn't eaten all day.

“It’s not like you to underestimate your own popularity," she said, which was true. "Although… I hope you don't mind sharing."

"...In general, I mind. A lot."

Asuka just rolled her eyes at that. 

\---

Considering that this was the second time within a  _ week  _ that two other people had ended up eating in his room, Manjoume was forced to consider the utility of having, you know, a proper table. With enough of a distraction for Rei, he could probably haul out the mahogany dining set from the Manjoume Room's storage vault. 

And by 'haul out', he meant 'bullying someone else into hauling it for him'. Sho would be an amusing target, although Kenzan, who had Actual Muscles, would be the more practical choice.

Again the three of them had resumed a 'triangle' position -- Manjoume in a suitably regal winged-back armchair and stabbing his chopsticks aimlessly at his paper plate. Judai was chewing  _ something _ , which he firmly categorized as a 'good thing'. 

Asuka cleared her throat. “I heard about the incident with Inoue-kun.”

“...Uh. Who?”

"You punched him on Monday."

“Oh. That guy.”

Asuka snorted, balancing her plate on her knees. "I'm glad that description clears things up."

"Say whatever you want about my reputation, but I only punched one person that day," Manjoume said. "Anyways, that scumbag deserved it."

"Hm. I'll have to trust you on that." She shrugged, and then she changed topics. "It's a shame Johan couldn't have stayed for the tournament. Apparently the councillor of North Academy really wanted him to come back. Maybe I shouldn’t say this, but Johan was starting to get a fanclub that almost rivaled your own…"

“That’s impossible,” Manjoume declared, poking idly at a flower-like collection of pickled vegetables. “You’ve seen for yourself how devoted my fans are. No one asked them to make any of this.”

"It's almost like a holiday,” Asuka observed with a bright laugh.

“The duels tomorrow will be enough of an event. ...Obviously, wiping the floor with Crystal Boy and his zoo animals in front of a cheering crowd  _ would’ve  _ been nice.”

"We still have to adjust the brackets though. I’m sure we can recruit a few volunteers to fill any empty spots.”

“Did you bring our draft with you?”

“Yes, but let's deal with that after," Asuka said, gesturing to her half-full plate, and without Ojamas to bother, Manjoume's gaze too-easily slid over to the silent member of their group. Those messy bangs had always reminded Manjoume of autumn leaves, split with shades of red and yellow, and Manjoume had also hated himself for a long time over how easily he could come up with stupid, sappy descriptions about Judai. 

Never before had the floorboards of a room been given such attention. Judai was determined, clearly.

Manjoume decided to keep ramming his way through layers of difficult stuff. 

"I've seen the inside of Yubel's head, by the way. Maybe they glossed over the whole 'brainwashing me for no reason' thing? Anyways…" Stabbing a dumpling, he continued. "This isn't like what happened during the GeneX tournament. As students, we were just...in the starter zone of this whole galactic war game between light and darkness. Even though it's sort of  _ insulting _ , we were only level-one soldiers. Yubel, on the other hand, was a maximum-level brainwashed elite."

After a beat, Asuka lowered her chopsticks. "I understand. Yubel was directly exposed to the Light's rays in space. That...is different than what we went through."

"I just…hate this. I hate having to think about  _ this  _ at all," he grumbled, and maybe that was too blunt, Asuka's forehead creasing with concern. "We're somehow supposed to keep going to school while there's this... _ minefield  _ of unresolved shit around us."

"Manjoume-kun…"

"It sucks." Dragging a hand through his somewhat-styled hair, he picked a less masochistic subject. "What _doesn't_ suck is my new deck. Even without Crystal Boy, I'll certainly put a few other over-confident duelists back in their rightful places. Below me, of course. Maybe I'll be merciful and make the duels quick."

"...Actually, maybe we should talk about the brackets. We'll call it a 'working dinner'," Asuka said, and, maneuvering her plate more to one knee, she picked up the navy blue notebook propped up next to her chair.

It had been the right decision. Arguing over rule changes and banned cards was infinitely better than 'the serious stuff', and maybe Manjoume had imagined it, but Judai actually seemed to be listening. He looked...sad, although he wasn't  _ only  _ sad. Something different ghosted over his face. 

Or maybe Manjoume had just imagined it.

Maybe.

He wanted it to be real. 

\---

By the time their discussion was over, Asuka firmly closing her notebook and sighing at the late hour, Judai remained a 'penciled in' participant (which left the timing of their next duel uncertain, at best) while Manjoume, Asuka, and most of their cohort had confirmed places in the bracket. As she had suggested, empty spots wouldn't be tough to fill in, considering all the hype. There  _ should  _ be hype, after all.

"Oh, I also brought you some things from Ayukawa-sensei," Asuka observed as she collected the empty boxes. "They're in the other bag, the one I left by the door."

"...Thanks," he mumbled in reply, blinking back visions of anti-scar ointments and seriously-not-comfortable shoulder braces. From there, things played out so  _ normally _ : Asuka wished them both a good night, Manjoume fumbled his way through a polite sentence while Asuka waited patiently, and she left with a final sweep of her golden hair over a bare shoulder. 

Although, the 'click' of the door shutting severed that normalcy. Manjoume kicked at the bag of medical supplies. One of the tubes almost rolled out. Ointment for his healing shoulder, which was a colossal pain to apply. Urgh. 

"I'm taking a shower. Do whatever you want," he said in Judai's general direction before grabbing some clothes and taking cover in the small room -- although, he would vehemently deny needing to 'take cover' in the first place. Breathing out, he bowed his head over the sink and just...stayed there, counting the seconds up to one hundred. He tacked on a hundred more. 

Damn it. 

"At least Yubel isn't clawing my eyes out," he mumbled, dodging his own gaze in the mirror before yanking his shirt over his head. Then again, eye trauma was more of the Supreme King's domain, considering he had threatened to-

This day was  _ not  _ going well, Manjoume decided. 

Turning the water on full and scrubbing at his hair helped, vaguely. Being a natural tactician had its downsides, as a part of his mind continued to pick through the new pieces of information from Judai. It was like having someone standing less than a meter away and endlessly rotating a well-used Rubik’s cube, complete with the many annoying 'clicks'. Yubel  _ this _ . Yubel  _ that _ . Why did that winged expert on sadomasochism have to come back?

Shutting the water off, he scowled at the white tiles. That analytical part of his mind continued on, drawing closer and closer to a Very Bad Conclusion. He  _ liked  _ hating Yubel, after all. 

They fucking deserved it. 

"This sucks," he said to no one before grabbing a towel and then violently drying his hair, the lower section of his right shoulder responding with a low, bothersome ache. Cursing, he threw the towel against the far wall and watched it crumple.

He did not look in the mirror. There would be those too-prominent bones framing his too-tired eyes, leading down the bone-y maze of his torso, complete with off-pink sections of still-healing skin and the piece of sadistic fine art that was his right shoulder. If he kept up with the new treatments, Ayukawa-sensei claimed that the worst of the scarring would fade. Eventually.

Probably.

The curled-up tube of ointment on the sink was empty, and Manjoune knocked it to the floor next. There was no point putting on a shirt when A) he would just have to take it off anyways and B) he didn't seem to  _ have  _ a clean shirt in his stack of hastily grabbed clothes. Because the universe wanted it that way.

Because the universe thought that repeatedly pissing off Manjoume Thunder was  _ still  _ a good idea.

"This sucks," he repeated, yanking on his Ojama-print boxers and a pair of default 'Duel Academia' sweatpants. He avoided hesitation over the closed door by shoving it open, and of course Judai would react. Even this closed-off, terrified version of Judai would still make noise when faced with the unique mess that was Manjoume's own collection of healing wounds, of baleful marks.

"Manjoume…"

"Staring isn't going to accomplish anything," he spat back before grabbing the new bag of supplies and trudging over to the bed. He sat down. If the space between them had been pressurized before, then it was crushing now, demanding that he crumple in place like a tin can transported to the very depths of the Mariana Trench. Or something equally dramatic. 

The blue tube was for his shoulder and back. The red was for the scar on his forehead.

He heard Judai take a deep breath. He couldn't ignore it.

"I meant what I said. Staring does absolutely nothing. It's...a waste of effort."

Although Judai remained silent, the pressure increased exponentially. Every millimeter between them added to the agonizing weight, and hadn't he promised himself to stop being a coward? Hadn't he escaped with the intention to become  _ more _ than he already was? 

Wordlessly, he considered the tube, the front and back a grid of medical gibberish. The contents would be sticky, clear, and cold. Usually the Ojamas made jokes about how gross it looked. 

"I can help with that."

It had barely been a whisper, Judai's tone low and rasping, and yet it made Manjoume straighten, his eyes wide as he finally looked to his left. Judai, standing by the bed, was holding out one hand, and his eyes were shadowed. His jacket hung limp over his lowered shoulders, the red still splattered with bits of dried mud.

Manjoume could have said no. 

"Uh… Sure?"

Pausing to kick his boots off, Judai slowly moved behind him, kneeling over the thick covers and taking the blue tube. But that thin distance somehow just made the pressure worse, Manjoume stumbling again and  _ again  _ over his words as he watched Judai read the instructions and then unscrew the cap. Although, Judai did not keep going. The next step would have been to apply the first layer to the bottom of his right shoulder blade, where the scarring began. 

No, it would not be that simple, and Manjoume, turning to face the empty wall in front of him, breathed out despite the aching pressure. So much had happened to them. They were submerged here together, in this place of obscured things.

"If you tell me to stop, I will," Judai said, bloodless and controlled and tensed. No contact yet. 

"It's going to be cold. You should expect me to complain."

"That's not what I mean."

"Then be more specific, slacker."

"I look like him."

It wasn't a very specific statement, and yet Manjoume's sarcastic reply died in his mouth. But, no. He needed to keep going.

"...Of course you do. But, Judai, there are still differences. You...don't move in the same way, for example."

An unhappy grumble, the bed creaking as Judai adjusted his weight. "Just tell me if it's a problem."

"Fine."

"I mean it."

"Yeah, so do  _ I _ . Just… Hurry up."

Judai did, and it was terrible, the first excruciatingly slow brush of his ice-cold fingers enough to make Manjoume flinch and curse violently. It was like having an extremely shy and awkward first-grade kid fingerpainting on his back, only instead of normal paint, some moron had given them experimental pigments straight out of a fucking freezer. Never before had he felt that section of skin so  _ acutely, _ and he never wanted to again. 

"Go faster. A lot faster."

Judai made a very small and very difficult to interpret noise. Which was not helpful.

But then his fingers lifted, and the absence made Manjoume sag forward in relief, his arms bracketed on his knees. Although, it had to be short-lived, the next press of Judai's fingers somehow  _ colder  _ than before. They continued up, all efficiency and quick sweeps of motion.

"I can't believe you let Tenjouin-kun bulldoze you like that," Manjoume heard himself say, and Judai paused briefly, almost at the top of his shoulder blade and on the border of the  _ real  _ damage. Strangely, his fingertips weren't cold at all now. The touch was...strong. Present. 

And then it lifted, followed by the unmistakable gurgle of a tube being squished. 

"I only summoned Sparkman and Bubbleman because she wanted it to seem like a duel. A forfeit would have been even faster."

"That's not my point." The silent treatment returned, as did the sudden curve of piercing cold. Manjoume clicked his tongue. "Yeah, sure. You already  _ knew  _ that wasn't my point."

Judai rounded the top of his shoulder, and then he moved away, the bed creaking again. It was obvious what needed to happen -- the angle was bad, and the wound extended past Manjoume's clavicle. Standing in front of him removed the obstacles. It was efficient.

It also made glaring holes into the wall a lot harder, as suddenly Judai was there -- all vacant stares and loose, tentative gestures that carried  _ none  _ of the tense still wracking through him, the strain visible. Tilted his head to the side, Manjoume waited. And waited.

"Keep going."

"Are you-?"

" _ Yes _ , I'm sure. I'm freezing here, for one thing."

Judai made another not-helpful noise before committing an act of low-temperature violence against Manjoume's collarbone. Although, he had clearly taken the feedback about 'speed' seriously, which left Manjoume with nothing to say that wasn't just...incomprehensible rambling about Yubel. Or the other dimension. Or the sudden chasm that had formed between them and all the various pressures it now housed.

At least, until Judai raised his right hand, its fingers spread slightly, and motioned to Manjoume's forehead. 

"What? No way. That's not going to happen."

The hand dropped, and Judai-

Judai stepped back, his eyes glassy and wide and  _ dazed  _ for just a few seconds, just that  _ tiny  _ gap of time between those instances of control. He lowered his head, the bangs a flimsy,  _ desperate  _ shield, and the realization crashed into Manjoume at full force. No. No, he hadn't  _ meant  _ it like that.

"Of all the moronic… You have to use the other tube for that part. The red one," Manjoume explained, the words spilling out while Judai only...stood there. Stupidly. "You haven't...set me off so far, and if you do, you're going to hear about it  _ clearly _ . I'll...yell. Probably. Just…" 

"You shouldn't have to deal with my...feelings," Judai muttered, an intensity bristling under those stilted, awkward syllables. 

"What are you talking about?"

"I shouldn't be doing this," he said with a vacant look at the blue tube. 

"Because it's messing with your head?"

Inhaling sharply, Judai continued. "No, that's not it."

"Then  _ what  _ is?" Manjoume snapped, and he kept going. "Listen, an accident isn't the same thing as intentionally hurting someone else. All of this garbage from the other world is still...confusing. And  _ new _ , relatively speaking. I can't say how I'm going to process all of it. It would be really,  _ really  _ convenient if I could."

"It is new," Judai stated, and his jaw tensed. Manjoume waited. The chill from his shoulder bored down. Softly, Judai then added, "I want to help with the scars, but you also don't have to accept it."

"I didn't think it was possible to be this terrible at putting stuff from a tube on another person, but… Congratulations, I guess."

"So I should stop?"

Manjoume made ten different hand gestures at once before shoving the red tube at him. Fuck it. " _ No,  _ you...idiot. Just use the right salve. I'll even push my hair back, so focus on the  _ one task  _ at hand."

It shouldn't have worked, not when Judai looked at the red tube as if it were a grenade with a faulty pin. He took it anyways, scanning the instructions before starting on the cap. The initial application took no time at all, Manjoume holding as still as he could while Judai methodically covered the parallel lines with an even layer of that cold, translucent substance. 

"It's sort of a 'screw you' to the Supreme King anyways," was what Manjoume blurted out next, Judai's crooked fingers tensing over his eyebrow. Their pressure was so light. He thought of second-year Judai cradling that wild bird with the broken wing, and then he closed his eyes briefly, focusing. Right. The scar. "In that first encounter, he made a big deal about how I'd wear this scar 'for the rest of my life', but fuck that. At least, the only way it's going to happen is if modern medicine fails me, not because some random asshole in a suit of armor  _ decrees  _ it."

Judai nodded before drawing away, his right hand hopelessly smeared by the contents. Manjoume kept talking.

"Go take a shower and clean up. Uh, I have… One sec." Stumbling over to it, he ripped open his wardrobe and tried to pick out some pants and a shirt. Preferably nothing with Ojamas on it, but it wasn't like that actually mattered. Another convenience of being in Obelisk Blue was the neat stacks of clean white towels  _ everywhere _ , solving another minor problem and increasing the height of the pile he shoved at Judai next. "Here. Try not to get lost on your way back."

Minor confusion ensued when Judai immediately walked away from him, but the reason why revealed itself quickly enough. Judai put Manjoume's tournament deck on the desk before crossing the room again and placing his own duel disk by the balcony doors, propping it up against the wall. That deck he took with him, hooking its case onto his belt, and Manjoume wanted to say something snarky about humidity, water, and trading cards before Judai shut the bathroom door, but, no. Apparently he was being nice today. 

Or maybe he really was just that tired.

Or maybe he didn't want to consider the possibility of Yubel having magical powers that kept Judai's deck safe under any circumstances. ...Even though Judai would just leave it by the door, right? 

...Right?

"This sucks," he grumbled to the room at large, openly shivering while he waited for the stupid ointment to stupid dry on his stupid skin. Still, there were no longer walls of pressure closing in on him. And he  _ had  _ gotten a few more sentences out of Judai. 

The pillow from earlier remained on the ground -- a seemingly inconsequential rectangular of white with blue stripes. Although, a tactical genius like Manjoume Thunder wasn't needed to figure out how it had even gotten there in the first place. From Judai's story, Yubel  _ had  _ grabbed his arm to stop him from falling, although not quickly enough to stop him from still having a close encounter with the floor. After he had woken up, Judai's muddy footprints had been in a neat, straight line from the balcony doors to the foot of the bed. Therefore, the only individual who could have moved the pillow was-

Manjoume sighed, kneading the space between his eyebrows. 

Yeah. It was going to be a long,  _ long  _ night.

\---

His cards helped pull him away from hyper-focusing on the faint whine of the shower turning on, even though the spirits remained hidden away inside, like startled birds clustering together under a convenient bush. Although, they  _ were  _ definitely still inside. He knew that. 

“The quiet is actually pretty nice. Maybe you should extend your little ‘vacation’,” he suggested, flicking a fingernail against Ojama Yellow’s portrait before dropping the card onto a small pile -- monster cards, intended for the tournament deck.

Which he had now decided wasn’t finished. Or even close to being finished.

Last-minute changes could turn that collection of mismatched machines and beasts into a working weapon, one he would  _ like  _ to show off in front of a full, cheering crowd. While Manjoume Thunder was famous for using zero-attack monsters, in particular the Ojamas brothers, he wasn't a 'one-trick' duelist in the slightest. 

"Anyone who thinks so deserves a few loses for their insolence," Manjoume mumbled at his desk, any earlier order abandoned in favour of overlapping cards and scattered bits of paper. Again, he picked up Ojama Yellow's card and flicked it. "You better be cheering in there, by the way. I'm quizzing you on this new deck later."

A slight creak to his left, and Manjoume flinched, the precursor to the glare he then leveled at a damp Yuki Judai. His already-messy mop of hair was even worse than before, and Manjoume had meant to spit out a joke about that. Instead, he saw the design of the too-big T-shirt hanging pathetically off his rival's lean frame, and he burst out into hysterical cackles.

"J-Judai, why did you put that on?!"

"You gave it to me," Judai mumbled back, turning away with a pout. An actual fucking  _ pout _ . Apparently the way to get through that stupidly thick wall of  _ emotions  _ was to give Judai a 'Rescue Cat' shirt, the helmeted feline cheerfully tilting its head to the side. 

"W-Why do I even  _ have  _ that…?" Manjoume managed to ask before clutching at his ribs. "Ha… Whatever. You're welcome for the outfit. It's v-very…" Laughing, he let the sentence hang, and Judai rolled his eyes and then crossed his arms. Oh, how  _ scary _ . 

"Do you have an extra blanket?"

"...Is that a joke? This is an Obelisk  _ Blue  _ room. Of course I have blankets."

"Where are they?"

"...What?"

Judai huffed, which normally would have driven Manjoume straight into a rant. Now, it was...funny. That was the word for it. 

'Cute' was another candidate. A very strong candidate, actually. 

"It's late. I can take one of the chairs."

"...Uh."

"It's not a big deal."

"No, it's…" Shaking his head, Manjoume stood up and then...stopped. Judai, blinking at him, waited with that grumpy pout, looking more and more like an impatient and rather shaggy dog. Or a cat. That image fit better with the one sprawled across his shirt, and Manjoume was officially way,  _ way  _ too distracted.

"I'll find it myself," was what Judai muttered after a beat, and yet-

"Have you ever  _ seen  _ the size of this bed? It's not like it matters. But, hey, do whatever you want. You're the guy who's been sleeping in a tent for no reason. Clearly you  _ know  _ best."

The sarcasm made Judai frown. He had, predictably, done a horrible job of drying his hair, and drops of water worked their way down his neck, leaving behind little marks when they reached the thick collar of that ridiculous shirt.

"I don't want to bother you," Judai mumbled, every pause between those words significant. His shoulders remained in that troubled ridge. The red-pink half-circles of his bitten-down nails were stark, even in this low light. 

"You're roughly two years too late for that."

"Manjoume."

"Fine.  _ Fine _ , I'll...be direct." Although it was challenging, his glare at the thick fibers of the carpet and not at any of Judai. Not even his bare feet. "Just keep Yubel away from me. I have a tournament tomorrow, and that should be  _ fun _ , in addition to other things. Maybe we’ll even have a duel during it, or after it. Or… I…" Kicking at nothing, he breathed out. "I need rest to duel at my best, and regardless of how  _ you  _ feel about Yubel, the fact is that I'm not going to deal with them right now. I don't want to, and… That's all you need to hear from me."

"Okay."

Judai  _ sounded  _ like he wanted to say more, but, wisely, he had stopped there. An explosion between them had been delayed. Or maybe it wouldn't happen at all, the detonators taken apart and the charges disposed of.

Maybe. 

Because the treatment had finally dried to a hard, shiny paste, Manjoume could pull on a long-sleeved shirt and climb into bed. As in, he could now lie down on the right side of his bed and still leave a near-ocean of empty space for the other person, who was seemingly having a great time pacing back and forth. Given that Judai and doing weird, random late-night things went together like a golden yolk and some freshly baked bread, Manjoume snorted to himself and closed his eyes. 

God, he was tired.

He was so tired and heavy and ready to sink down into the mattress.

Even though the bed was huge, he still felt it when Judai finally sat down. A silence reigned, but it wasn't all bad.

No, not at all. 

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asuka: I'm just going to assume that Yubel could both notice Asuka approaching and tell Judai about it without Thunder noticing. For. For the purposes of...intrigue. 
> 
> Me, Ranting: This is my third try at this chapter, so... Ha......... I think I managed...to put in most of the parts I wanted. I'll do another check for obvious grammatical mistakes tomorrow. ....I'm pretty tired! While I'm happy with how this turned out overall, it was...tough to keep the mood up. I'm still going for that happy ending, naturally, but it has to be.......in consideration of what's happened thus far. Thanks for reading, and I hope this finds you well.


End file.
